


The witcher, the wardrobe and half a chocolate bar

by AngryHamster



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at smut, Brought to you by social distance induced horniness, F/M, Fluff, Horny Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Humor, I'm so good with hashtags, Mystery, Romance, Slow Build, Time Travel, accidental world and time travel stuff, talking lots of talking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28690353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryHamster/pseuds/AngryHamster
Summary: The story takes place in Toussaint long after the ending of the games.Geralt takes home a strange woman he finds in a field because he's intrigued by her yoga pants.Where does she come from? Why is she here? And what does dirty dancing have to do with it all?“Well, I’ve never been abducted to a more beautiful place.” The sun over Toussaint had just started to rise and tinted everything in red, warm light.“You have been abducted before?” Geralt asked mildly surprised. That would explain her calm demeanor.“No.”“You made it sound like you had experience in this field.”“No, I’m new to being… an abductee. That doesn’t make my statement less true though.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 85





	1. The one with the yoga pants

**Author's Note:**

> Hello internet,  
> I wrote this story because I had this idea in my head and needed to write it down to get rid of it. Here is a spoiler-free table of contents that says very little about the story and a lot about what’s going on inside my brain.
> 
> 1) The one with the yoga pants  
> 2) The one with the hipster-accusation  
> 3) The one with Jane Oyster and a lot of denial  
> 4) The one with the magic mud  
> 5) The one with Kintsugi  
> 6) The one with the interlude  
> 7) The one with drunk snacks and romance  
> 8) The one with the confused pufferfish  
> 9) The one with the starfish that needed its face  
> 10) The one with the nilfgaardian bat that brought gifts  
> 11) The one with the monochrome horses  
> 12) The one with the half-assed alchemy class  
> 13) The one with the friendlier interrogation  
> 14) The one with the sex  
> 15) The one with the Captain Marvel-revelation  
> 16) The one with Marty McFly
> 
> (Chapter titles may be subject to change)
> 
> Also: I'm not a native speaker. I hope that reading this isn't too much of a pain.
> 
> Also also: The whole story has already been written, I'm just working on making things more cohesive? Try to weed out at least some language mistakes? Try to make sense of what I scribbled together?  
> So I'm aiming to update at least once a week.  
> And while I appreciate anybody who leaves something nice for me, I will also update if you guys tell me that you hate the story (I wrote it for me and it initially never occurred to me to make it public).

The night was still warm even though the sun had set hours ago. A breeze carried the smell of lavender from one of the nearby fields. It was peaceful and quiet, the cicadas were chirping in their usual rhythm, seemingly the only beings awake at this time of night - apart from the lonesome rider and his horse.  
Roach found her way on the now familiar roads of Toussaint effortlessly. The witcher did not bother to take the reins and let Roach go on at her own speed. The dry roads were merely illuminated by the full moon and the spectacular night sky that was densely packed with shining stars.  
They both deserved a break after an eventful day. They had been tracking down a leshen in a forest near Beauclair and found it just when the sun started to set. The fight was short but intense and the tired witcher yearned for a bath to wash off the sweat and monster goo from his body. Of course, that would not happen tonight. Barnabas-Basil, the always reliable majordomo of Corvo Bianco, who would usually order people around to have a bath drawn, was probably already fast asleep. Geralt considered taking a dip in a nearby river when his eye caught something unusual.

A few paces ahead, besides the cracked road, lay a body. Now, that was not unusual: The area was populated with many vineyards and the people often overestimated their tolerance for alcohol, thus ending up as beer corpses on the side of the road or occasionally falling asleep in the middle of a field. Had it not been for the unusual clothing, he would have passed the unconscious body without a second thought. He was, after all, a witcher and not a collector of drunk people. Ever since he decided to stay in Toussaint, the area had become much safer. Especially in a wide radius around his home, Corvo Bianco, there hadn't been a necrophage, an apparition or any other kind of non-human monster in quite a while. Therefore, there was usually no harm in letting the drunk sleep away their inebriety.  
But in this case curiosity got the better of him. He dismounted Roach and approached the sleeping figure carefully, silently. Roach shook her head, not questioning her master’s strange behavior, and focused her attention on some bushels of grass which had defied the heat of the past few weeks.  
Geralt on the other hand was tense. Not because he expected danger. The human shape, as he quickly realized, was that of a young, slender woman. What threw him off was that he could not make much sense of what he saw. Her breathing was calm, her heart beat slowly, just like it should. But she looked like she did not belong. Her skin, as far as his enhanced vision allowed him to perceive, was pale but rosy. Paleness was very unusual for a sunny place like Toussaint. Even the noble ladies needed make-up to cover their skin in order to reach the fashionable degree of paleness. But neither was this woman wearing make-up nor did she seem to be associated with the highborn lords and ladies. Her blonde hair was braided to the side but not in a style worn by the locals. It reminded him a little of braids that he had seen in Skellige but surely that was not where she came from. Her strange garments would have left her freezing in the harsh conditions. She was wearing high waisted pants and a matching top, that was long sleeved but at the same time cropped at the waist, exposing some part of her belly above the navel. What an odd combination, he thought. The material felt unfamiliar to the touch. He could see that it was woven and while he certainly was not an expert on fabrics, he knew that he had never seen any type of cloth that clung to the body so tightly. He could see every curve, every shape her petite body had to offer. Not even the sorceresses he had surrounded himself with in the past had worn this sort of simple but at the same time somewhat extravagant type of garment. The color was interesting too: There was a gradient from white to green, as if it had been partially dyed and afterwards the color had seeped through some parts of the fabric. In stark contrast to that were her black shoes with white soles. He wondered why anybody would put white soles on shoes since they would get dirty immediately. Again, the material felt strange, like nothing he had ever touched before.  
The witcher then took her hands into his. They looked so small compared to his as he was still wearing thick, protective leather gloves.  
Her fingernails were cut short but neither the nails nor her skin showed any marks that would suggest physical labor. On the contrary, her skin was quite soft. This was something that he did not come across very often. Nice skin was a privilege held by noble ladies who were able to afford all the lotions and creams they deemed necessary. Or sorceresses who took advantage of other methods.  
And finally, there was her smell. It was somewhat fresh and fruity but at the same time strange. He could not identify any particular component of it even though his senses were heightened and usually very reliable. If he had to, he could identify a person by their smell and follow their traces around town for a while without ever losing sight, or rather smell, of his target.  
The witcher shook the woman carefully, trying to wake her up. Her lips parted, revealing a row of neat white teeth. For a moment it appeared as if she was about to open her eyes but she never did. A barely audible sigh was all he got.  
He contemplated what to do. His medallion still did not show any reaction. And yet everything about this woman screamed that she did not belong here. Geralt decided to take his mystery find home with him - he could not just leave her there, it felt wrong to him. But he also knew that he was much too curious to not try to figure her out.  
He scanned the surrounding area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Not a hint as to how the woman got here.  
Carefully, he placed her on top of Roach and, without any effort, jumped into the saddle behind her.  
“Okay Roach, let's go home.” With one arm he reached around the woman's waist, his other hand took hold of the reins. He silently prayed nobody would cross their path - a witcher with an unconscious woman by his side was not a good look. The people in Toussaint had been much friendlier to him compared to what he had experienced elsewhere which was one of the reasons he had decided to settle here. He did not want to risk reminding people of all the wrong ideas they had about witchers. His life was easier as long as he was in Anna Henrietta's good graces. It was her who had given him his home, the vineyard Corvo Bianco, and while the Duchess was quite honorable and stuck to her word, she was also easily infuriated.  
For most of his life Geralt had owned what he could fit into the saddlebags of his horse. Most nights he had slept outside, often unable to afford a room in a tavern or inn. While setting up camp somewhere to the side of a road, or on a clearing with only the stars as his companions, had something serene, he also had had to sleep with one eye open to avoid being mugged. Most of the time he had barely scraped by, earning just enough to eat and fix his gear, as most of his contract work was not paid very well. And in those rare instances when it was paid well or other forms of comfort were to be had, there were usually strings attached. There were rare instances even when he had gone hungry and where he would have stayed that way, had it not been for a bout of luck or someone who took pity on him.  
The path – that was what the witchers called their life on the road. Geralt had always thought it to be a very fitting description. The word path indicated that there was an end to it. For a witcher that was usually to die. Maybe during a job, clawed by a monster. Or perhaps after the threat had been defeated and the villagers, who hired him, realized he was not needed anymore and that they had better use for the money. Every winter when he returned to Kaer Morhen he wondered which of his fellow witchers he would meet and which ones would never return again.  
It had been about a decade since he left this particular path and he had no intention to ever return to it. It took the comfort of having a home, of being given the means to leave that damn path behind him, just to realize how much this way of life had exhausted him. As a witcher he had always been too rich to die but too poor to live. Anna Henrietta had changed that. And he would do everything for things to stay that way. Geralt would rather die than return to that cursed life of a witcher.  
That was not to say that he did not still occasionally hunt monsters, but his motivations were different now. He wanted his home to be free of the monsters that endangered his livelihood and the people who worked for him. And sometimes he did it to earn the goodwill of the other vineyard owners as, in his case, goodwill was as good a currency as gold.  
He was not fighting for survival anymore but for his home. But he was well aware that any kind of rumor could break his neck, destroy everything that he had built over the last decade. Geralt knew that he could live for another 100 years and never touch a sword again and he would still not be accepted by everybody. Fear and hate were always louder than reason.

Hence, he considered himself lucky that nobody witnessed how he travelled the roads with an unconscious woman beside him. Their uneventful journey found its end shortly after midnight. Geralt carried the sleeping stranger up into the unused guest room that was located upstairs in Corvo Bianco’s main building. The woman was still sleeping soundly. Geralt took off her shoes, wondering how they were so impossibly light while weighing them in his hands. He arranged the shoes next to the bed and covered his strange visitor with a thin blanket. He left the door ajar and let some candles burn on the big dining table downstairs. If she woke up in the middle of the night at least she would not be completely left in the dark. She would probably be terrified enough as it was – waking up in a strange place usually did that to people.  
On his way back to the stable, he picked up a carrot for Roach that she happily crunched on while he removed her bridle and brushed her dark brown fur, all under the watchful eyes of a fat black cat and a slender grey one. Two pairs of eyes, not unlike his own, seemed to follow his every movement but kept a safe distance from him for cats did not like witchers. Even after all these years of living on Corvo Bianco, the furry creatures had not warmed up to him.  
“Any suggestions as to where our strange visitor is coming from?” the witcher asked his horse. Roach shook her mane and neighed. “Yeah, thought so. Good night.” He gave her a pat on the neck and left the stable. Geralt pondered for a moment before he walked to the small river behind the house, undressed and washed off until he felt clean.

He woke the next morning when his sensitive ears picked up light steps on the wooden floors of the dining room. He quickly threw on a linen shirt and trousers and bound this hair back, before cautiously opening the door of his bedroom. The door creaked, just like it always did, but in the silence of the morning it appeared to be louder than usual. The woman who, for some reason, inspected the lower parts of the walls, startled and held a hand to her chest when she saw Geralt emerge.  
“It's okay, no need to be scared,” he said while he raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. Big blue eyes looked at him from under a pile of messy blonde hair. Her braid had halfway dissolved during the night.  
The woman hesitated before she answered: “You know, that is a lot to ask from someone who just woke up in an unfamiliar environment with no memory of how she got there.” Geralt smiled at the unexpected sass. It did strike him as odd that she neither screamed nor looked like she was about to lose her nerves. Her behavior was fittingly peculiar and matched the whole situation perfectly.  
“I found you by the road last night. I tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t have it.” He raised his hands defeatedly. “Maybe I was wrong but I figured you'd much rather wake up in a bed than halfway into the jaw of a wyvern.” He looked at her expectantly.  
“Wy- what?” She shook her head as if trying to clear her confused thoughts. “Yes, thank you, that was very considerate. But I gotta ask… Where on earth am I? And where is my phone or… anything?”  
“There wasn't anything else where I found you. We can go back, but I'm sure that I didn't miss anything.”  
“I am so confused. Seriously, where are we even?” She was suspicious, ready to bolt if she had to, but hid it fairly well. Geralt did not blame her. In fact, he rather admired her for staying this calm.  
“You are at Corvo Bianco, my vineyard.”  
“I'm sorry, I have no idea where that is meant to be. I know nothing about wine, I prefer my grapes fresh and unsquished.” She apologetically shrugged her shoulders.  
“We are close to Beauclair,” he explained. When he still saw only question marks posted all over her face, he added: “In the duchy of Toussaint, belonging to the empire of Nilfgaard. South of Velen and Novigrad.”  
“No.” That is all she said while shaking her head profusely. “What country is that supposed to be? Toussaint and Beauclair sound French, so are we in France? Or maybe Belgium? I guess Switzerland would also be an option?” She gave him a questioning look. Geralt could easily pick up on her elated heart rate that did not match her calm demeanor. She was a good actress, he noted. Just from looking at her you could not tell how uncomfortable she was.  
“These names I am not familiar with. I don't think any country on the continent is named France or Belgen.” Geralt replied. His mystery find became stranger by the second. An idea started to settle itself into his brain but it was so absurd that, at least for the moment, he was not willing to give it any room to grow.  
“Belgium,” she sighted. “The continent? What continent? There is a whole bunch of them! Europe, the Americas, Australia maybe?”  
“No, just the continent.”  
“So, there is just one? And you guys didn't even name it? That's a level of laziness I have never come across before. I assume this is some kind of sick joke but nobody bothered to write a proper script for it?” she sneered and looked at him like something was clearly wrong with him.  
Geralt was not sure how to respond. “If this is a joke they are playing it on the both of us. I found you and thought it a good idea not to leave an unconscious woman out there.” He was irritated. She should have given him answers instead of more questions.  
He sighted. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Maybe we start off with something easier? Care to tell me your name?”  
She cocked her head. “It’s Kit.”  
“Kit? My name is Geralt.”  
She nodded. “And now?”  
Geralt interlaced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes for a second.  
“I don’t know. How about a walk?” he suggested. Again, she just nodded. She did not bother to hide her suspiciousness anymore. Geralt wondered how he would have reacted in her place, being a small woman confronted with a probably terrifying looking man. People had run away from him, screaming at the mere sight of his eyes.  
“Follow me then, if you please.” Geralt turned around and opened the door to the outside. He held it open for Kit to go through who did not even give him so much as a quick glance. It struck him as odd that she did not in any way react to his looks. He practically had ‘weird’ written on his forehead. In most cases that meant people would ostracize him. To a few others he was some sort of sex trophy - two extremes and nothing much in between. Hostility or obsession, he hardly knew anything else. He wondered which category she belonged in. Now, standing behind her and looking at her bottom which was wrapped quite formidably by those strange pants, he hoped she would lean towards the latter.

“Well, I’ve never been abducted to a more beautiful place.” The sun over Toussaint had just started to rise and tinted everything in red, warm light.  
“You have been abducted before?” Geralt asked mildly surprised. That would explain her calm demeanor.  
“No.”  
“You made it sound like you had experience in this field.”  
“No, I’m new to being… an abductee. That doesn’t make my statement less true though.”  
Geralt smiled against his will. She is masking her fear with humor and she is clever, he thought. Very unlike most of the people he encountered. He was certain that a vast majority of them would have started screaming or tried to run away immediately. It would take time to figure her out, that much he could tell already.


	2. The one with the hipster-accusation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking. So much talking.

“Come, there is a better view to be had,” Geralt said and started walking towards a little path that led them behind the main building of the vineyard. At the end of a small incline there was an old bench in dire need of a new paint job, positioned by a shallow river that splashed along peacefully. 

Kit sat down on the bench while Geralt dipped his still naked feet into the water. The mountain water this river carried was cool but not cold. It was August and in August nothing was ever cold, not in Toussaint.

Geralt lay down on the grass, keeping his feet in the water. He hoped that being in this vulnerable position would signal her that he was no danger, that she could even run from him, if she chose to. He would, of course, be able to catch up with her quickly but she probably did not know that.

The green grass, flecked with yellow spots from the persistent summer heat, tickled his ears. “Do you see the city in the distance?” he asked with his eyes closed. Beauclair was elevated and easy to spot even from far away.

“Yes. It looks like there is a palace,” she replied.

“Mh. A beautiful one.”

“Is it open for visits? If I am already here, I might as well do some sightseeing.”

Geralt chuckled. “The Duchess wouldn’t be too happy about visitors in her home. But the palace grounds are open to everyone.”

“A Duchess in her own palace? How fascinating. That’s so anachronistic.” She sounded astonished, as if she had just heard the most unusual thing.

Geralt shuddered and lifted his feet out of the water. He slowly got up and faced the mysterious woman. What was going on her head? It was impossible to tell.

“What’s odd about that?” He stared at her expectantly.

“Well, the upkeep of these old buildings nowadays is usually too expensive for these formerly… or somewhat noble families to maintain them. And, in my opinion, they serve the public much better as museums anyway.”

“Better not say that to Anna Henrietta, you might end up a head shorter.”

“Oh goody, I’ve always wanted to live in a place where freedom of expression is not a thing,” she deadpanned and rolled her eyes. Geralt felt his mouth contorting into a smile again. If fear made her this entertaining, what would happen if someone held a knife to her throat?

“So, where you are from everything is allowed?” he asked.

“Coming from Cologne I can certainly say we are on the more liberal side of things.” She chuckled. “I would have guessed that you were too, with your hipster-looks.” She nodded at him while her gaze flitted up and down his body, as if there was something about him that proved her point.

“Hipster-looks?” What on earth was that supposed to be, he wondered.

“Am I mistaken? The way you look I thought you were a hipster and therefore pretty liberal.”

“I’m a witcher not a… a hipster.”

“A witcher? That must be a new trend that I somehow missed. I just thought the ponytail thing that you’ve got going on with the beard and the white hair… Though I do have to admit that contact lenses are, to my knowledge, not a hipster thing. Last time I checked, big glasses were still all the rage.”

“What? Anything wrong with my hair?” Geralt actually felt a little insulted. “And what are contact lenses?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, throatily and pleasantly. “No, you are gorgeous of course! There is nothing wrong with your hair, I’m just saying it is very much in line with what hipsters look like. Well, except for those cat eyes. The lenses you are wearing look really good though. Most people look cross-eyed when wearing them but yours look so natural!” 

Geralt tried to grasp what she had said as he was not sure whether she was genuine or messing with him. His frustration was growing while she seemed rather unaffected by the whole situation.

“So, just to make sure: That was a compliment, right? And you think I am wearing something on my eyes?”, Geralt cautiously asked.

“Well, yes. I’m sorry if compliments, like free speech, are forbidden in this weird little fantasy game.” She smirked. “And yes again, obviously I think your eyes are fake. Or was your mother a cat?” Kit snorted a little when saying that. But she also blushed faintly and Geralt found that very endearing. He decided then and there that he liked her for she was funny and treated him like his existence was natural, like he was an actual person and not a mutant or a monster. Hardly anybody had ever done that. And those who had treated him like a human being had never done so outright. Or maybe, he thought, I’m not deciding anything right now and I’m just yearning for someone to simply accept me.

All things considered, to Geralt this was a pleasant change from the usual course things took and he rather enjoyed it. Maybe the presence of his strange guest would turn out to be much more pleasant than he had initially assumed.

“No, my mother was a sorceress. And all witchers have these eyes. They are changed to look like this so we can see better, especially in the dark.” He paused for a moment, not sure what to think. “My mother being a cat was a joke, right? That’s not actually happening where you are from?” He had come across too many oddities in his life not to give everything a benefit of the doubt.

For a moment all was quiet, until she suddenly burst out in laughter. At some point she tried to say something but started laughing again. It was infectious, Geralt started to chuckle but he did not know why.

When she finally calmed down, she spoke again. “You are quite the comedian, aren’t you?”

“That’s not how people would describe me,” he answered earnestly.

“Well, sorry, but the idea of having a cat as a parent… The internet is full of and basically for cats. Some men are obsessed with cat girls, but that? No, that’s new, even to me.” She giggled.

This conversation was not going at all like Geralt had imagined it would. For someone who was quite distressed just a little while ago, she now seemed very relaxed.

“You still think this is some sort of joke,” he concluded.

“Why, yes. What else would it be?” She rolled her shoulders and stretched a little. “This is weird. It’s not normal to just wake up somewhere and to have no memory of how one got there. I see that you’re not going to tell me what’s going on. But I also think you’re not gonna hurt me.”

“May I ask how you came to that conclusion?”, he asked curiously.

“You have gentle eyes.” She shrugged as if this was a widely established standard to judge people by that he should have known about.

“Gentle eyes”, Geralt repeated. “Is that what you see? A strange man, who could easily overwhelm you, who has a face full of scars and eyes like a cat. And you think ‘gentle eyes’?” he asked incredulously.

Kit nodded. “But, naturally, I assume that the scars are fake too.” This was probably the calmest way a normal human being in this world had ever reacted to him. He slowly approached her, still sitting on the bench. Time to test some limits, he thought. He went on his knees right before her, so that their faces were level, placing his arms on the bench’s backrest left and right of her, so she would not be able to run away. Her heartbeat immediately picked up but certainly not because of fear. Was it excitement or maybe curiosity?

“Look,” he said. “Look closely. And tell me anything about me is not real.” 

She shifted a little so that their faces were closer. The fruity, undefined smell, that emanated from her hair, became stronger. He could feel her breath on his skin.

She hesitated a moment, lifting a hand, then asked: “Can I…?”

Geralt nodded.

Kit cautiously raised her hand to his face, touching first the small horizontal scar on the right side of his forehead, before gently following the trail of the vertical scar on the left side with her thumb.

Her touch seemed to electrify him. What an odd and pleasant feeling, he thought, when the warmth of her fingers seemed to spread through his whole body. Was it something about her, that made her light caress feel so overwhelmingly good, or had it just been too long since someone had touched him like this? Had his skin been sensitized due to the absence of this sort of physicality? He started to feel dizzy in a very pleasant way.

Finally, she looked him in the eyes, her critical blue gaze transfixed on him, her hand still resting on the left side of his face. When Geralt purposefully dilated his pupils, she quickly let go of him and leaned back. She did not say anything and just stared at him with slightly squinted eyes while her mind seemed to race a mile a minute. The odd sensation, Geralt had been feeling, was gone.

“You win,” she finally said. “I cannot figure this out.” Geralt did not move. Her heart beat fast but he still smelled no fear. Maybe she’s just very naive and that’s why she doesn’t fear me, he contemplated. “These scars seem very real. And the pupils in contact lenses can’t contract or dilate. I have no clue how you just did that, but, yeah. You win, I am amazed and at my wit’s end.” She folded her arms over her chest. “You may give me some breathing space again, thank you very much. I don’t want to end up with Covid.” She had returned to her cocky tone as if nothing had happened.

Geralt moved onto the bench next to her. “What’s Covid?” he asked. Geralt found it hard to make sense of some of the things she said. But she said it so matter-of-factly that there was no doubt to be had about whether or not these things existed. Lying to a witcher was not that easy.

She looked at him with a raised eye-brow.

“I’m okay playing along with this for a while, literally because I don’t know what else to do. But I’m not gonna pretend this virus doesn’t exist. That’s just not how I want to die. Please respect that.”

“I won’t claim that something you say exists doesn’t exist. But I’m immune to any virus, so, whatever this is and does, I am no danger to you.” It’s ironic, he thought. Of course he was a danger to her in so many ways – if he wanted to. But despite his physical appearance, which most people considered rather intimidating, she was merely scared of a virus. Not of what he could do to her. She became more fascinating by the minute.

“Interesting. So, you just claim you’re immune and I am supposed to believe that?”

“Witchers are immune to viruses. You don’t have to believe me but that’s the way it is.”

Geralt could tell she was somewhat annoyed. Again, he did not blame her. The situation was odd, to put it mildly.

She lowered her upper body until it met her thighs. Kit turned her head so that she faced his knees. “Are you sure you won’t tell me what’s going on? How I got here? Why I cannot remember a thing?” she asked, all of a sudden sounding a little disheartened.

“I will not - because I can’t - because I don’t know.” He rested his elbows on the back of the bench und leaned his head back, staring at the sky which had started to turn blue. What a beautiful day, what a weird problem to solve, he thought. A soft breeze, carrying the promise of another hot day, caressed his skin. He silently wished that it were her hands, and not the wind, he was feeling.

“Okay. Then I guess I have to operate under the assumption that I am friends with people who seriously need to check their boundaries. I am a light sleeper which means someone had to drug me in order to transport me here without me waking up. That’s a serious offence and I just can’t think of anyone who would do this. And who would be willing or able to arrange this sort of play.” She lifted herself back up, resolution returned to her voice. “I hope they are paying you well to keep up this charade which, I’m sure, is basically a criminal offense.”

“Nobody is paying me. I’m not an actor… But what exactly do you think happened here?” What was going on in that head of hers? Geralt had always thought that Yennefer was hard to read but Kit might be worse. There were seemingly no parameters which to measure her behavior and her tone against.

Kit sighed audibly and annoyed. “Someone drugged me and brought me here while I was unconscious. Looking at the way I’m dressed, it appears I was on my way to the gym or going for a run when it happened. I want to believe that this is someone’s weird idea of a belated birthday gift. Some sort of adventure holiday where they put you into a setting and you have to play along. This looks like it is past-related with the absence of sockets, light switches or proper roads. Middle Ages maybe? It’s really the only thing I can think of. My birthday was just a few days ago and I’m on holidays for the next three weeks. My friends and family knew that.” She aggressively rubbed her eyes with her fists. “But I really don’t know who’d think that this is a good idea. I obviously agree that I was quite stressed recently and needed some time off work to slow down. But to me that’s more like going out to get a massage and not pretend-live in a world without running water and central heating.” She shook her head. “I remember a movie I once saw. It’s called Austenland, I think. It was about a woman spending a week in some sort of theme park that was recreated to match the world of Jane Austen’s novels. So, I suppose this is similar?” She turned towards him. “Am I right?”

“After the fifth one I stopped counting all the words you just used that I have never heard of before. So, I’m gonna go with: You’re wrong.” He made a mental note to inquire about the nature of light switches and Jane Austen at a later time. “I don’t know anything about any of this.” She watched him intently while he tried to look apologetic. Her blue eyes were piercing but not betraying any emotion of hers.

Another sigh. “Well, I can’t change it. I have no idea where I am, so I will just play along. For now. Until I come across a phone.” She angrily crossed her arms over her chest. If that was supposed to signal determination, it was severely undermined by her growling stomach.

“Please tell me that at least regular meals will be included in this. I’m not a functioning person when I’m hungry.”

Geralt was relieved to find out that his strange guest apparently came with instructions.

“Marlene is probably already preparing breakfast. Give it another minute.”

Pouting. Silence.

“Are you feeling all right?” Geralt asked. He had to ask as there was absolutely no way to tell. People claimed that witchers did not have emotions, which was wrong of course, but despite their lack of showing any, they were very much able to judge those of their opponents. In a fight this could be vital. And I am losing this fight, Geralt realized.

“You mean apart from this existential crisis that I am currently experiencing?” He nodded hesitantly.

“Yeah, I guess. Pity, such a beautiful day.” Her gaze lost itself in the distance.

“What do you want to do now that you’re here?” he asked a moment later. He could not think of a better question as he did not even know what constituted a good question in this context.

Kit thought about it for a moment. “I would like to see the palace, even if it’s just from the outside. How far is it from here?”

Geralt pondered. “A little more than an hour by horse I’d say.”

“Mh, and by foot? My horse-riding isn’t up to date anymore. It’s probably been 20 years or so.”

“How did you avoid riding horses for so long? How do you even get places?” He would have liked to believe that his face displayed surprise.

“I mostly walk or go by bike. I only use my car if I have to transport things or the weather is really bad. You know, for the environment etcetera.” Geralt wanted to ask what a bike or a car were, but he feared that the explanation would come with more questions than answers.

So, instead he said: “Why don’t we have breakfast and then we’ll make sure that you remember how to ride a horse?”

Kit nodded, giving him a quick smile. “Let the kidnapping-holidays begin…”


	3. The one with Jane Oyster and a lot of denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Title: The return of the yoga pants.

“So, what do you do for a living when you’re not picking up unconscious strangers?” Kit asked with half a croissant in her mouth. Geralt toyed with a stubborn piece of sausage on his plate. The smell of freshly baked bread surrounded them. Marlene would always prepare dough in the evening in order to bake fresh bread for him every morning. For a moment Geralt lost himself in his thoughts. This was probably what he was going to miss most, if someone were to take Corvo Bianco away from him.

“I hunt monsters. Technically this vineyard belongs to me but apart from keeping it vermin free, I don’t have much to do around here, at least until harvest-time. Barnabas-Basil is the one to organize and hire the people to do all the work. We will very likely run into him sooner or later.” The majordomo would always appear out of nowhere when Geralt needed him. Who knew, maybe he had his own kind of magic. Geralt had long been having his suspicions.

“Sorry, I stopped listening after ‘I hunt monsters’. Care to specify what type of monster you are talking about?” Her raised eyebrow clearly indicated that she did not believe a word of what he had said.

He chose to ignore that and instead explained: “In this area it’s mostly lower vampires, necrophages or archespores.”

“Yes, of course. I totally understand. Completely unrelated to that: Do you have a stash of garlic somewhere?”

“That won’t help against vampires.”

“Too bad. What about the other things?”

“Not a chance.”

“Will it at least chase off unwanted company, if I eat enough of it?”

“That might work.”

“Well, it’s something.” She grabbed another piece of bread. “If push comes to shove, I could still use the garlic as a projectile.” Geralt smirked again.

“Do you have vampires where you are from?”

“Yes, tons of them. Safely banned to books and other forms of media containing fiction.” She looked at him quizzically. “Do these vampires, by any chance, sparkle or something?”

Geralt went over this strange question in his head. “You could consider them sparkling if you set them on fire, I guess. But otherwise, no.”

“Good. A world without shitty sparkling vampires is a good world.” Geralt, again, did not bother to inquire about the background of her statement.

“Tell me more about this Jane Oyster and her park.”

“Jane _Austen_ ,” she emphasized the name, “was an author. She wrote romance novels that usually had some sort of class struggle at their core. Mostly of the sort ‘rich man wants to marry less affluent girl and everybody has an opinion on that’. Okay, that was a truly a terrible synopsis… But I swear the stories are quite good. She had a talent for characterization.”

“And what about her park?” Geralt asked since romance novels did not interest him.

“It was not her park. It was… sort of an artificial world modeled on her books. Like a theater play that has been expanded beyond the stage. They’d recreate the buildings, the clothing and so on of that specific era. And there were lots of actors who’d talk the way they did back in the day. Anyone could pay to visit this place, pick a costume and immerse themselves in this recreated world. People generally perceive our world as very stressful compared to the good old times, when everything was supposedly simpler. It is a short-term escape from reality.”

Geralt began to understand. “You think that this is what’s happening here? That this is not a real place and everybody here is just acting out a part?” Now he could see why she was not afraid – or at least not of him.

“Exactly. The difference being that people went to Austenland voluntarily. And in the movie, because obviously it was a romance movie, she fell in love with one of the actors. And after a lot of this and that, drama, tears and such, it turned out that he loved her too. Happy end. Sounds cheesy of course, but I quite liked it.”

“I wonder who I am supposed to be in this context.” Geralt was genuinely curious to hear her explanations.

“Well, since it’s been a few minutes and you haven’t insulted my looks yet, probably not Mr. Darcy.”

“Who is Mr. Darcy and why would I insult you?” This was exactly what Geralt feared. Every question lead to more questions and hardly any answers.

“He’s an idiot who insulted the woman he later fell in love with. You know, after he actually got to know her and came to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, it’s a bad idea to immediately judge people by their looks. Took him ages to win her back. What a tool.”

“Well, I promise I will never insult your beauty.” He spoke truthfully.

Kit smiled. “You better.”

“And what would have to happen for you to stop believing that you are in a historical recreation?” he wondered, watching her reaction carefully.

“Well, I don’t know. Because, if I was not in ‘Austenland’, then that would mean this was real. That monsters exist in reality and outside of books. That I’m having breakfast with someone whose eyes have actually been altered. That would also mean I am very far from home, probably in an entirely different world.” She shivered. “Honestly, that would be scary and I might just go insane then.”

Geralt sighted now that he had been informed of what was in the cards for him. He started to prod gently. Maybe it was better to get this over with fast.

“You said you don’t believe that my eyes or my scars were real. But you already had to admit that you were wrong. How does that fit into your theory?”

She looked him straight in the eyes, not answering immediately. “I did not say that I believe they are real,” she started. “I said that I don’t know how you’re doing it. That’s not the same.”

“So, denial it is?” He cocked his head.

“It’s only denial if my theory is wrong. You have yet to prove me wrong though.”

Geralt sighted. Apart from the fact that she did not want to accept reality, she seemed quite smart. He tried to imagine himself in her situation and wondered what it would take for him to be convinced of something that was seemingly utterly impossible. But he failed for he knew nothing was truly impossible. He had seen too many things to believe otherwise.

“This is probably the most outlandish conversation I ever had over breakfast,” he murmured frustrated.

“Is it? How does it compare to your strangest lunch and dinner conversations?”

“I have a few strong contenders for dinner conversations.”

“Well then, maybe we can come up with a good one for lunch.”

Geralt smiled against his will as he had done so many times during the last few hours.

They went to the stable where Roach was eating away at the hay provided for her.

“This is Roach,” Geralt said, patting the mare on the neck.

“Hi Roach, please don’t kill me.” Kit, he noted, kept a safe distance away from the horse. Roach, meanwhile, did not much care about the new visitor.

“You should come closer. I consider myself an experienced rider, but even for me it would be difficult to get on a horse’s back from that distance.” He grabbed saddle and saddlecloth to put on Roach’s back. Roach, again, was indifferent and kept feeding.

“Do you know how to get into the saddle?” he asked while holding the bridle. Kit looked not quite confident.

“I guess I’ll give it a try and we shall see.” She grabbed the pommel and put one foot into the stirrup. To Geralt’s surprise, she managed to pull herself up in a swift and nearly graceful motion. Kit’s face, meanwhile, continued to show doubt about whether or not this was a good idea. Nevertheless, she patted Roach’s neck and ran her fingers through the chestnut colored fur.

“I forgot how warm horses were,” she said, lost in thoughts.

“Come on Roach.” Roach shot one last longing look at her hay, but followed obediently. Kit jerked a little in the saddle because of the unexpected movement.

“Geralt? You’re not going to let go of the reigns, are you?” Her shaking voice betrayed her calm demeanor.

“I won’t, don’t worry.”

“Good, because if you do and this is getting me killed, I’ll make sure to come back as a ghost and haunt you forever! Because ghosts probably exist?”

Geralt was about to list all the things, that were more likely to get her killed than a ride on gentle Roach, but after short consideration decided that it was not wise to do so. Instead he just answered that yes, indeed ghosts existed. But he spared her the list of things he could do to get rid of them and instead opted for: “I once shared my body with a ghost for a wedding. Cannot recommend that sort of experience.”

After about a mile of her sitting on horseback, Geralt noticed that Kit’s hands were not clinging to the pommel anymore to the degree that her knuckles turned white. He could not comprehend, despite the explanations already given, how being faced with a stranger whose face was full of scars, in a world abundant with monsters, did not seem to faze her the least but sitting on a horse seemed to scare her deeply. When he asked her about it, she assured him that there was no particular reason and she just had a lot of respect for the size of the animal.

The dust on the dry roads dampened the sound of the hooves. As was typical for a Toussaint summer, it had not rained in weeks. It was still early morning but it would not be long until the sun would start to beat down on them mercilessly.

“It’s quite nice,” Kit said, turning her head in all directions. “What a place to live!”

At least in this regard her reaction was the expected one. The magic and beauty of Toussaint always got to its visitors.

“What’s it like where you are from?”, Geralt asked curiously.

“It’s much grayer. I live close to the city center, so there is an abundance of asphalt, a couple trees, some shrubs. The most colorful things are the signs of the supermarkets. But there are several cherry trees that look wonderful when they bloom. Obviously, it doesn’t compare to fields of lavender and sunflowers.” She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, smiling to herself. “It smells much better here.”

“I assume the stink of the sewers is quite nasty?” he asked, remembering his time in Novigrad and the extensive network of sewers under the city which was mostly occupied by feces, cadavers and necrophages.

“Sewers? No, the drainage system is fine. It’s rather the smell of exhaust of all the cars that’s a little annoying. Especially in summer when the air seems to be completely still. And all the sounds. It’s just never quiet. I swear I have the most horrible neighbors. Whenever I want to go to bed they start turning up their music or start chopping nuts or something equally ridiculous. That is, if they are not having screaming matches or throwing porcelain around.”

“Mh, I can relate. I have sensitive ears.” Geralt remarked.

“It’s probably rather quiet around here?” she asked.

Geralt nodded. Unless someone is maimed by a monster that is, he added in his thoughts.

“What’s Kit for a name anyway?”

She chuckled. “Actually, it’s Kathrin. I got the name Kit at school. There was another Kathrin but everybody called her Kat. And because nobody can be bothered to pronounce two syllables when you can make do with just one, they called me Kit. We were good friends back in the day and whenever we showed up anywhere, people were calling us KitKat, like the chocolate bar. It stuck even after she moved away and I was the only Kathrin left.”

“Kathrin, huh?”

“Yeah, but don’t call me that. I hate that name.” The tone of her voice did not allow for any discussion on that topic. Geralt made sure to remember this if he was ever in the mood to piss her off.

On the way back Geralt tried to force the reigns into Kit’s hands but she outright refused. Silly woman. She might have been the first person he had ever encountered who was a much better rider while being unconscious.

His head shaking, he walked them back to Corvo Bianco where Barnabas-Basil greeted them the moment they set foot (or hooves) on the property.

“Good morning Master Geralt.” Barnabas-Basil bowed a little.

“Good morning BB! Let me guess, I missed something?” Geralt asked. Barnabas-Basil made a face that Geralt knew all too well. He had gotten fairly good at guessing roughly what was going on by just looking at Barnabas-Basil’s face. There was the ‘Papers need to be signed’-face, the slightly more distressed looking ‘We have a problem with the harvest’-face or, his favorite, the ‘You are needed urgently, don’t bother getting off the horse, the monster is in the other direction’-face.

“Indeed, you just missed a messenger from the palace. You are kindly reminded that your presence is required at the annual wine festivities and that you are to be dressed, I quote, ‘properly’.” Barnabas-Basil cleared his throat and then looked at Kit through his small, round glasses. In his usual calm voice, which sounded dignified in every situation, he continued: “But it seems I too missed out on something. We do have a guest I presume?”

“BB, this is Kit. She will stay with us for a while.” Kit waved a timid hello.

“Miss Kit, please let me know if there is anything you need.” He, again, bowed slightly.

“I really just need to get off this horse but thank you”, she replied sweetly with only a hint of despair.

“BB, please let them know I’ll be arriving with a guest this time.”

Kit descended from the horse in a much clumsier fashion than she had gotten onto it.

“Thank you Roach, that was lovely, let’s never do that again.” She hesitantly stretched out her hand to pet the soft skin at the muzzle. Roach pushed into her hand gently. They have probably gotten to some sort of agreement, Geralt thought.

“What’s that festivity your… assistant just mentioned?” Kit asked, leaning against the wall of the stable.

“In this Duchy, they take their traditions and festivities very seriously. Every year at the end of August, they celebrate the start of the grape harvest. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. The Duchess and I have an agreement where I don’t pay taxes but I keep an eye on things during the party or any other larger festivities which take place at the palace. They’ve had some bad experiences in the past and everybody feels safer with a witcher around.”

“And what did he mean when he said ‘dressed properly’? Suit of amour?”, Kit asked curiously.

Geralt laughed. “I wish. More like itchy doublets and silly pants. You’ll see.”

“Will I?” Her eyes grew large.

“Well, yes, I just told BB that I would bring you too. Or don’t you want to?” He eyed her curiously. The ladies usually never left out an opportunity for a ball or any other fancy occasion which demanded uncomfortable clothing.

“Oh, I would love to. But I hope my fairy godmother makes an appearance soon because, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately for whatever this is. Actually, I’m not dressed appropriately for anything that’s not a workout,” she mused.

“Don’t worry. We’ll ride into town today and give one of the local tailors some work. You need spare clothes anyway and I don’t happen to have any that would fit you.”

“Unless you’re secretly cross-dressing you’re probably right. But even if you were, we don’t exactly have the same size. I bet I could make a whole dress for myself out of one of your shirts.”

“But I was wondering…” The question had been burning on Geralt’s mind ever since he had found her. “What is it that you are wearing anyway? I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s so… tight. How do you even get in there? There are no buttons or laces or anything. And your shoes. Why on earth are the soles white? It makes no sense! None of this makes any sense!” He felt like he got a sense of the frustration that she must have been feeling at being here.

To answer his question, she hooked one thumb into the waistband of her pants and pulled. And the fabric expanded. “God bless the stretch. Makes your butt look good because it squeezes everything together but at the same time it’s so comfortable. It’s like your whole body is being hugged by hundreds of tiny arms.” I would sure like to hug her, he thought and swallowed hard. “Those are my workout clothes. The material dries very quickly when you sweat, just as workout clothes should.” Geralt started to involuntarily think of sweaty situations. “And the shoes have white soles because black soles often leave marks on the gym floors and nobody wants that.”


	4. The one with lunch magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking AND eating. We're getting somewhere.

And so they rode to the city – accompanied by vehement protests on Kit’s side who would have preferred to walk there. Geralt held the reigns in his hand, Kit sat behind him, her arms holding onto him in a death grip. Anytime he signaled Roach to move faster than a normal trot lead to the air being squeezed out of him.

“You have quite a strong grip for someone with such delicate arms,” the witcher wheezed.

“I still don’t like riding and you’re going too fast!” Kit sounded from behind, her voice muffled as she tried to hide within herself like a tortoise in its shell. “And my butt is starting to hurt.”

“And you compensate by hurting me as well?”

“I suppose. But I’m sure this is worse for me than it is for you!”

He silently agreed as he liked the feeling of her lithe body pressing against his. If the circumstances were a little different he might have enjoyed it even more.

Geralt smiled to himself.

When Roach’s hooves hit the cobblestone, they halted. Geralt slid off the horse’s back effortlessly and lifted Kit off, who seemed to be crippled with fear. When he put her to the ground she blushed and looked away.

As they walked through the city, Kit’s head bobbed from left to right and back again. “This is beautiful. These buildings are adorable. The colors! And, oh, do you smell that? It smells delicious! It’s unreal how perfect this is. And so many people! I had no idea anyone could be bothered with hiring so many extras. This must be quite expensive.”

“What do you mean by extras?” Geralt asked. He was getting more and more used to not understanding a lot of what she said, but every now and then he just had to ask.

“Extras, as in background actors. This really is an immersive experience.”

Reality always is, he thought.

Here and there, Kit would flitter off to a stand or small shop and ask questions – questions he could not hear as he was too far away and the surrounding noises too loud.

Despite all these distractions, they reached the shop of Geralt’s least despised tailor eventually. He tied Roach up outside before they went in.

“Master Geralt, I have been expecting you!” Before Geralt could even think about a reply, the tall, thin and appropriately extravagantly dressed man continued. “I have taken the liberty to prepare a few choices for you according to the latest fashion.” Geralt sighed. He had been coming here for years whenever he needed new attire for one of the Duchess’ parties. He had learned early on that it was not acceptable to wear the same thing twice. All his never to be worn again outfits filled a huge trunk in the guestroom. What a waste, he thought. At least Remy was always up to date on these events and would limit the time this ordeal took to a minimum. Hence, he had become Geralt’s least despised tailor.

Unlike the shops of the other tailors in town, Remy’s always looked a like a storm had just blown through. It took Geralt several visits to understand that the tailor simply preferred to live in his chaos. Fabrics were stacked high up under the ceiling with no apparent order as to color or type of fabric. His tools were always buried under heaps of half-finished clothes or patterns, but Geralt assumed that there was some sort of system to it as Remy always had at hand exactly what he needed. Only the measuring tape was always found in the same place as he wore it like a necklace.

“Thank you, Remy. Will they be as uncomfortable as always?” Geralt grumbled.

Remy did not reply, he only smiled and indicated, with a wave of his long-fingered hand, for Geralt to follow him. The tailor did not mind Geralt’s rudeness because he knew it was nothing personal. He had long since accepted the witcher’s unwillingness to care about fashion and never took his remarks to heart. He also earned too much from his grumpiest costumer to complain.

“Do you always look like you have been charged with a death sentence when you go shopping?” Kit stifled a giggle. Geralt grunted and followed Remy rather unwillingly, treading carefully to avoid tipping over a stack of rolled up fabrics that would, if its delicate balance was disturbed, bury them like an avalanche.

He was presented with an array of multicolored doublets and tunics, patterned and covered in frills. The mere thought of them made Geralt feel like someone was squeezing his throat.

“The blue one is pretty, it contrasts nicely with your eyes,” Kit commented. Geralt agreed insofar as the blue tunic did have the least amount of frills and buttons and all the things the witcher considered unnecessary on a piece of clothing which offered no protection from fangs, claws or swords. However, as to why the color of his eyes was a contributing factor in this decision remained a mystery to him.

“I see, the lady has an eye for things.” Remy nodded approvingly. “This is indeed the latest fashion by a currently very popular designer originally from Maribor. Would you like to try it on?”

“ _Like_ is a slight exaggeration,” Geralt grunted but took the tunic anyway and disappeared behind a folding screen that was supposed to provide some privacy. “Remy, show the lady some options, she will accompany me to the wine festival.”

A little while was spent where Remy took measurements to alter the tunic to fit Geralt while he showed dresses to Kit. Geralt was not told what Kit had decided on, he only learned that it was potentially expensive. That part he did not mind since the vineyard generated all the money he could possibly need to live and more.

“So it’s gonna be a surprise?” he asked when they had settled down for lunch at a table in the town square. It was well after noon and the sun burned mercilessly. Only the fabric roof of the tent over their heads prevented them from catching on fire.

“No, not really. I just don’t like what is currently called fashion and I asked him to make a dress that I would actually want to wear. Seriously, I don’t find anything appealing about the Middle Ages, especially not the fashion. That part I won’t play along with, if I can avoid it. I’m fairly certain that I wouldn’t survive even five minutes in a corset.”

“Do you have any experience in making garments yourself?” Geralt asked. He had seen her sketch something out for Remy, who had nodded and agreed to her suggestions concerning some seams, fabrics and whatever darts were.

“Call me a hobby-seamstress. I have made a few things for myself, I know the basics. But, truth be told, when it comes to the actual sewing, I suck. I simply don’t have the patience or skill for it. But luckily I won’t have to do that myself.” She smiled. “Anyway, I’m curious to see how this is going to turn out and if Remy is going to do what I asked for or if he only pretended that he did to get rid off me and I’m gonna end up wearing something odd and look absolutely ridiculous.” The nonchalant way in which she said this made Geralt think that she was not bothered by the outcome. “Not that it matters. After all it’s just a silly game,” she confirmed his suspicions.

Kit paused, her face taking on an earnest expression. “But I am surprised by how well people here can act. I’ve been asking so many times for a telephone and they all pretended, quite believably so, that they didn’t know what that was.”

“What is a telephone?” Geralt cautiously asked. He did not really care about the dress. The women always looked stunning, it did not matter what they wore. And in the end, he always preferred if they wore nothing at all. Some things never changed.

“A telephone…” she frowned while she searched for the right words, “It’s a device that can immediately connect you to other people who own a similar device. So you can talk to them just as if they were here.”

“Like a megascope?” Finally something he could make sense of. Now it was her turn to quizzically look at him.

“Never heard that term before.” She shrugged while cutting off another piece of a delicious roast. “I’ve been keeping an eye on everything. Nobody even glanced at a mobile phone, no cables, no sockets, nothing. No hint at electricity, the internet or anything modern.”

“But you still don’t believe that this is real?” Geralt cocked his head, doing his best to ignore all those words that he did not understand the meaning of.

“I am a reasonable person. I cannot think of a proper explanation for all of this. I’m inclined to say that the people here are doing a terrific job. Even all those conversations running in the background – not one slip. But what astonishes me most is how nobody is wearing facemasks. I don’t know of any part in the world where that would currently be acceptable with the virus raging on. Obviously,” she twirled her fork in her fingers, “it would be possible that everybody here has been quarantined for several weeks so that this place is indeed virus free. But I haven’t gone through a quarantine so I would potentially be a risk. And that doesn’t make sense. That should prove that this is real, that I… I don’t know. Travelled back in time or something. Even though time travel, of course, is not possible.” Kit’s shoulders slumped. “Some singular occurrence or magic or whatever would be a very good way to explain all of this. It seems so much more likely than anyone I know agreeing to me being drugged and abducted. But magic doesn’t exist. So… I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“And if I showed you some magic – would you believe it then?”

Kits looked at him excitedly and smiled. “That promises to be exciting!” She clapped her hands.

Geralt pointed at the candle that stood on the table in between them, snapped his fingers and the candle suddenly lit on fire.

Kit’s reaction was disappointing as there was none.

“I don’t know. That’s not very impressive. Maybe there is a mechanism in the candle that’s triggered by sound or something?” Geralt sighted. Difficult customer. He snapped again and the candle extinguished itself. He then took the candle and proceeded to break it into small pieces in front of her eyes. Kit examined them but still did not seem convinced.

“There is probably a thousand other ways to do this. Some very basic chemical reaction maybe.”

Geralt felt challenged and frustrated at the same time. He used Aard to blow a wooden bowl, which was filled with fruits, from the table. He acted a little more forcefully than he had intended, as innocent bypassers were suddenly attacked by flying apples and grapes. They were not amused but refrained from any protests once they realized who sent the fruity projectiles their way.

“And now?”

Kit did not reply but Geralt could tell by her changing heartbeat that finally something must have stuck with her. Her expression, however, remained doubtful. He briefly considered using some stronger magic but he was afraid that it might scare her off, make her detest him just like the others did. He had already begun to enjoy her presence and the curiosity surrounding it too much to be willing to risk it. She will probably just come up with alternative explanations anyway, so it might just be a waste of breath, he thought. She could only live in denial for so long, sooner or later she would have to give in.

They spent the rest of their lunch in silence and without fruits for dessert.

On Kit’s request Geralt showed her other parts of Beauclair even though he would have preferred to just sit out the worst heat of the day elsewhere.

Kit seemed to enjoy herself very much even though he could tell she was still pondering over the existence of magic. He could not help but once again had to admire the calm and the lack of concern she was displaying to the outside world. Someone else might have been fooled but not him of course.

Hardly anybody was immune to the charm of the city, not even Geralt. Having spent most of his life in the northern parts of the continent, the colorful little houses and the neat cobblestone, shining brightly against the mostly sunny sky, were a stark contrast to the bleakness and greyness of other cities. He often felt that Toussaint was exempted from reality. A little bubble of wide-open plains, beautiful forests, vineyards, crystal-clear streams and lakes, and silly little festivities, unbothered by the rest of the world. Poverty was not as prevalent as in other parts of the continent which probably helped with people’s attitude towards the witcher. And the wine too. The wine might have helped the most.

Eventually, they passed a gallery that displayed some pieces of art outside. Kit looked at them intently and then sniggered.

“Geralt, I had no idea you were a nude model. Well done!”

“What are you talking about?” He looked at the picture – it was him, naked on horseback, only the necessities covered by a flowing cloak. Another grunt. “Beginner’s mistake.” The artist had approached him years ago and asked him to pose for a portrait. The session was interrupted by a griffin-attack and further complicated by a bunch of necrophages who had apparently discovered their artistic inclinations and had stolen the painter’s tools. All in all, it had been an eventful afternoon, though not one minute of it was spent naked.

“At least now I know why all the women stare at you whenever you walk by.” She smiled cheekily, her eyes fixed on the painted abs of the man on the canvas.

The painter had removed all of his scars. Would Kit still consider him attractive if she knew about them, Geralt wondered.

“Just so you know, I was fully dressed when that picture was painted. And if people look at me it’s usually because they recognize me by my hair and eyes. I just happen to be well-known around here for my work.” He had very much gotten used to the looks people gave him, as well as the whispered comments about the ‘white wolf’, and did not really perceive most of them anymore. This afternoon in particular he had spent in blissful ignorance and focused his view on the beautiful shape of his companion. He would be sad to see this odd but revealing outfit be replaced with normal clothing. It was not a coincidence that the tailor, who he had chosen to visit that morning, did not usually stock women’s daywear but only made it to order.

“Oh Geralt, don’t take me for a fool, please. I recognize a jealous stare when I get one.” She grinned widely and then moved on.

Geralt shook his head. It seemed she was so focused on taking in her new environment that she had become completely oblivious to the way people stared at her. The fact that she, as a woman, was wearing pants would have been by itself enough to arouse everybody’s curiosity. But the fact that her garments were skintight and left no guesses as to the form of her legs or the way her thighs met her round bottom – it got everybody’s attention, men’s as well as women’s. She probably would have drawn less attention had she been naked. It was merely Geralt’s presence that prevented any remarks from reaching her as people would not dare to approach her with him always being close by.

Geralt assumed that wherever she was from, what she was wearing was an acceptable thing to wear – even though he found it hard to imagine. He was not able to otherwise explain how she was so unbothered when parading her appealing form around town like this.

It’s been too long, way too long, Geralt thought, and tried to focus on something else.

On their way home, Kit on horseback, Geralt holding the reigns, they talked about witchers. He explained to her the signs he could form, his training at Kaer Morhen and why witchers were so despised.

“I don’t get it. You risk your life to save people and demand to be paid for it. That sounds quite reasonable to me. Where I’m from, we don’t expect others to work for free, particularly not those who save lives while risking their own doing it.”

Geralt thought about it for a moment.

“People feel like we take advantage of their situation. The fact that we all look a little worse for the wear doesn’t help.”

“I’d say your marketing department failed you. Hardly anyone seems to know what you are going through to become who you are. And I bet they only see children-stealing side of things – not the part where each of you was once an innocent child themselves.” She paused for a moment. “Though I don’t condone taking children as payment for a job. That’s just wrong on so many levels.”

Geralt gave a dry laugh. “I did it once, as a joke, and did that turn into some mess. But most children were actually given up by their parents. They would beg us to take them so they wouldn’t starve.”

“What happened to the boy you took?” She sounded cautious, maybe even a little afraid. He did not blame her. What must she think of him knowing only a fraction of the story? While he had claimed the law of surprise, as had been his right, he had later on refused it, had even promised Calanthe that he would never take the child. But destiny had other plans for him.

“She became the best witcher out there. She occasionally visits me but is mostly out and about to explore. That is, when she’s not too busy being the empress of Nilfgaard.” It had only been a couple of months since Ciri’s last visit. She was probably not going to turn up again for another year. But he was not sad that the girl, who was so dear to him, did not come by more often. He knew she was living life to the fullest, just as she should after all the things they had been through. While he still disagreed on the way she did it, he knew it was the best for her.

“She? I thought girls couldn’t survive the trial of the grasses?” Kit asked astounded.

Geralt remembered his own trial which had given him his cat-eyes and the white hair. How they kept trying more things on him since he was so much more resilient than the others.

“She did not have to. She… already possessed certain powers.” He did not go into further detail. The whole ordeal had been exhausting and he preferred not to think about that time and instead focus on the moment. For the last few years this had become his mantra and dwelling on the past did not do him any good.

“So, how does a witcher turn into vintner anyway?” Kit asked when they walked past the fields of grapevines. Geralt stopped every now and then to check on the fruits. It would soon be time to harvest.

“That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time and nowhere else to go,” Kit prompted.

The witcher scratched his head, not quite sure where to start. “It was about ten years ago. The Duchess sent for me to find and kill what had been known as the ‘Beast of Beauclair’. After it had already killed several knights, she figured it was a witcher’s job rather than a knight’s job. Corvo Bianco was my reward.”

“What kind of monster was it?” Kit dismounted Roach in her usual clumsy manner as her foot nearly got stuck in the stirrup. Hopeless, Geralt thought, as he caught her at the waist and only let go once both her feet were safely planted on the ground. Kit cursed softly under her breath. Geralt was pleased when he noticed that her heartrate had picked up a little when he had caught her.

“It was a higher vampire. Technically at least. It turned out he was blackmailed by the Duchess’ sister who was the vampire’s former lover. She had staged her own kidnapping and Detlaff, that was his name, received threats that she was going to be hurt if he didn’t kill certain people in a given manner.”

“Uh, the Duchess has an evil sister? Just like a soap opera!” Kit exclaimed. “What happened then?”

“It took us a while to figure this out. Detlaff demanded an explanation from her but the Duchess had her sister locked up in a book of fairy tales in order to protect her. As a result, Detlaff decided to wreak havoc on the city.”

“The Duchess locked her sister in a book? With fairytales?” Kit looked at him, her expression somewhere between confusion and serious doubts about Geralt’s mental capabilities.

“Yes. Weird family.”

“I have so many questions.” Kit scratched her head. “Okay, first of all: How do you lock anyone in a book?”

“Magic,” Geralt commented nonchalantly while inspecting the grapes of the plant in front of him. He removed a single grape and chewed on it contemplatively.

“Sure. Magic.” Kit groaned. “Okay, what about: Why did the Duchess’ sister want to kill these people? What was her motive?”

“She, as the older sister, should have become the Duchess. But she was born under the curse of the black sun and it seems her parents looked for an excuse to strip her of her birth right and get rid of her. The men she ordered to kill were the ones to remove her from the palace when she was just a child. From what I know, they did not treat her very well.”

“Geralt?”

“Yes?” He looked at her quizzically.

“You suck at telling stories. You’re not making much sense.”

Geralt shrugged. “I have other qualities, I’ve been told.”

“Like?”

“Maybe I’ll show you some day.”

She looked at him, confusion displayed on her face, his innuendo completely lost on her.

Geralt sighted. The cultural divide between the two of them was nearly tangible in a moment like this. He found it very difficult to read her at times but occasionally realized that it must feel the same way to her. Whenever they talked, her blue eyes showed understanding or confusion, but never the hate or disgust he dealt with most of the time. He had been somewhat reluctant to tell her about witchers, fearing she might judge him or hate him as most people did. But she did not, she just accepted it, sometimes pitied him, sometimes even showed a hint of admiration. To Geralt, this was special and he enjoyed not being judged on the basis of his genetics but merely on the basis of his character.

He wondered what her world was like and if all people there would show him the same kindness as Kit did.

It would be while before they were even close to properly understanding each other, that much was obvious to Geralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But I'm sure Geralt would appreciate butts - even though in the books he's more of a boobs/lips kind of guy. I'm certain that's just because of the severe lack of pants for women back in the day.  
> Thanks for coming to my TED talk :D
> 
> Next time: Geralt and his beloved bathtub.


	5. The one with the magic mud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt in a bathtub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referring to a leg wound from the books here.

When they went to bed that night, he could hear Kit tossing in her bed above him. He had already noticed that, when it came to keeping negative emotions in check, she rivaled any witcher. At least as long as someone was watching. Now that she was alone and probably not aware of the clairaudience of the building, it became obvious that she was not at all at peace with the situation. And how could she be? Geralt admired her – she possessed no special powers, likely did not know how this world worked and yet, she did not despair. He could not think of anyone else who would have taken things this well. What would happen once she fully realized the predicament she was in? She still believed everything was a game but the façade was crumbling. Geralt did not know what it would take to convince her but something would happen, he was sure of it.

Things changed much sooner than he would have expected.

It was during their breakfast a few days later that a farmhand stormed into the dining room and interrupted them. At a nearby vineyard a monster had attacked a worker who, while mildly hurt, was able to lure the creature into a rotten shed where it was going on a rampage now. A witcher was urgently needed before more people came to harm as he was sure the old structure would not contain the beast for long.

Geralt stormed off to grab a sword while he beckoned Kit to stay put and wait for him to return. The women in Geralt’s life had always been quite stubborn and, it turned out, Kit was not making an exception.

“You absolutely cannot come with me, this is very dangerous!” he said more aggressively than he had intended to.

“But I have to! What’s the point of this adventure holiday if I miss out on the best part? Or are you afraid it’s going to break the illusion when I see that there is no real monster?” she answered back with a big grin on her face, already sitting on Roach’s back. The fact alone that sat on the horse without him holding the reigns told him that resistance was futile. He cursed, jumped into the saddle just behind Kit, and grabbed the reigns from under her arms. Maybe that silly woman would at least regret coming with him once she experienced how bumpy a ride in a full-on gallop could be, he thought grumpily.

Roach carried them swiftly and it did not take them long to arrive at their destination. Geralt had been hearing the furious screams and roars of, he guessed, a ghoul from far away. He found the old shed quickly, jumped off and approached the shaking hut. On Geralt’s command, the wounded worker removed the broomstick, which had served as a lock for the door, and then went off running into a safe distance. The moment Geralt entered, the foul odor made him wrinkle his nose while the ghoul screamed and jumped at him. Geralt avoided him by a hairbreadth, spun around with his sword in hand, managing to strike it once in the side. Unfortunately, the wound he inflicted was not deep enough to stop the ghoul but rather made it bolt through the open door. Geralt was quick to catch up with it when it turned around just outside the shed for another attack. Again, Geralt evaded the sharp claws, spun around and slashed. He usually aimed for arteries or vital organs but ghouls were problematic when it came to that since they were built in a way that any of these parts were difficult to reach if you were not lying beneath the monster. And if you happened to end up there, then you were most likely already dead.

Geralt moved fast and used the acceleration of another pirouette to strike again. The ghoul howled in anger but was not ready to give up yet. It hissed and jumped, while Geralt evaded with ease and grace, again and again. Another jump, another spin, another strike. This time however, his foot landed on the floor at a slight angle which triggered his old wound: Hot pain shot through his foot and knee and rendered his leg immobile for a split second. The pain made it impossible for him to duck aside in time for the next attack, forcing him to confront the ghoul head-on. When the beast bared its underside to the witcher in preparation for a last, deadly jump, Geralt speared it on his sword right through the heart. Unfortunately, as if to protest its demise at the witcher’s hands, the monster lashed out and buried its claws in Geralt’s right shoulder – before it crumbled to the ground lifelessly. Geralt dropped the sword and tried to immediately put pressure on the wound with both hands, hissing in pain. But the blood began to seep through his hands nevertheless. While it was not a deadly wound or the worst one that had ever been inflicted on him, it was painful and the loss of so much blood was not easy to handle, even for a witcher.

“Geralt!” Kit’s voice was shrill with panic. She had ridden close to him and tumbled from Roach’s back.

“There is a brown crucible in the left saddlebag. Grab it, quickly!” he instructed her. “Now open it, take out half a hand full and put it on the wound the moment I take off my hands. Do you understand?” She nodded. Her heartrate indicated that she was about to lose it but as always, she did not look like it. Her hands were shaking a little and the micro movements of her eyes were slightly wilder than they would usually be, but other than that she managed to keep her calm.

Geralt let go and Kit pushed the dark brown, cakey mass onto his shoulder, her whole body suddenly trembling lightly. It burned just as much as the initial slash of the claws had but he knew the pain was going to subside very soon. This paste, that amongst other things contained mandrake, was a gift from Regis. The old bat visited occasionally and regularly introduced one or the other medical discovery which he had made to Geralt. His favorite component from medicine to alcohol was mandrake, for reasons only Regis was aware of.

This paste was going to help the blood coagulate quickly while simultaneously disinfecting the wound. Even though the gashes were deep, they would not require stitches but were going to grow together without any further assistance. All thanks to Regis’ ‘wonder mud’ as Geralt liked to call it.

“Geralt,” Kit’s words were hardly audible, “are you going to be okay?” She was not crying yet but he saw how those blue eyes got watery. Her hands were still pressing against the wound. Geralt removed them gently with his unharmed left.

“It’s okay, you can let go now.” He even mustered a smile to try to reassure her.

Geralt grabbed the handle of his sword with his left hand, his right arm dangling somewhat uselessly next to him. The muscle was hurt, he assessed, it would be a while before it healed properly. With a slurping sound that made Kit twitch, he removed the sword from the disgusting smelling carcass.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked while he unsuccessfully tried to stash the sword, sullied with black sticky liquids, away into the saddlebags using just one hand. He cursed himself for not having put on at least some light armor. That would have taken time though, time he did not have as he knew exactly what would have happened had he been too late. Considering the state of things, he would rather have his body take some damage than his reputation and, as a consequence, Corvo Bianco. Geralt the witcher had always been able to walk away from a botched job. But Geralt the landowner did not have this option.

Besides, one monster was usually child’s play to him. The reliability of his knee was an entirely different story though. It had not caused him much trouble in the past few months leading him to ignore this minor disability of his and letting it could his judgement.

Kit, who until that moment had still been kneeling on the ground, got up, took the sword from his hand and tucked it into the flap beneath the saddle where it belonged. Her hands were shaking a little less now.

She looked at him, her face full of worry. “It’s real. It’s all real. That… monster. There is no way to fake this. Hell, I can even smell the iron in your blood… Is it always like this?”

Geralt was not sure what she was referring to. “Usually I’m a tad more graceful and don’t get skewered like that.” He mounted Roach with difficulty. “I really need a bath, let’s go.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You are walking away from this like you only got scratched. How is that possible?” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Mostly the mutations, a little bit of experience helps. And now let’s go before the adrenaline wears off.” And the pain hits me like another horde of ghouls – he finished the sentence in his mind.

Kit stared at him, thoroughly confused, obviously still trying to process what had just happened. She did not even seem to realize that her hands covered in dirt and blood.

Reaching Corvo Bianco Geralt ordered the first maid he saw to draw a bath while Kit helped him to take care of Roach.

“Don’t you want to sit down? I can do this myself. I know how to brush a horse.”

Before Geralt could answer Kit had already taken the brush from his hands and continued: “God, I don’t understand how you are still standing. Why does it look like I’m more shocked than you are?”

Geralt leaned against Roach’s neck, hugging the horse with his unharmed arm. At least he hoped that that was how it looked like. He felt weak and held onto Roach to stabilize himself. He refused to sit down as he was not certain whether or not he would be able to get up on his own.

“Witchers have a higher tolerance for pain. We heal better and faster than normal people too. And, like I said, I’ve been through this and worse numerous times. It’s not that bad.” That was a lie but there was no point in upsetting her. A crying, hysteric woman was the last thing he needed. He used his supposed lack of emotion and tried his best not to let on in how much pain he was. He could not stop himself from shaking though. One side-effect of Regis’ formula was the cold which had started to creep though his whole body. Geralt knew it all too well and did not like it one bit. It was eerily similar to the sensation of stepping through a magic portal, something that he despised doing. But the cold meant it was working, that things were already starting to heal.

It was Barnabas-Basil who informed them that the bath was ready. The majordomo was as usually unfazed despite his master’s disheveled looks. He knew the drill and had already prepared bandages and various ointments to be applied after Geralt had washed off.

They returned to the house. A big wooden tub was located in an alcove right next to the dining area. The alcove had previously housed just another smaller dining table but due to Geralt’s love for bathing had been sectioned off with a room divider and had been turned into a permanent bath.

Geralt began to assess the damage looking at his pale reflection in the mirror. The right side of his neck, face and hair had been doused in blood as well. It was always such a bother to remove half-dried blood from his hair. It was about time for a beard trim as well, he thought when scrutinizing the looks of the tired man in the mirror.

“Uh, you know what, I’m gonna sit over there,” Kit pointed to an undefined area behind the divider, “and read a book. Let me know if you need some help… or something.”

Geralt just gave a little grunt because he was afraid he would let out some ungodly scream if he opened this mouth now while trying to peel the blood-soaked shreds of his shirt from his body. He discarded the rest of his clothing on the floor and cast Igni to heat up the water in the tub.

He lowered himself carefully, paying attention not to sink in too deep. He wanted Regis’ formula to stay on just a moment longer. The water warmed him up quite nicely and he began to relax as far as the pain would allow him to.

Geralt gave himself some time before he grabbed a piece of soap from a little table right next to the tub. Using his right arm as little as possible he tried to create some soap suds but the soap turned out to be unwilling to cooperate and jumped out of his hand, hitting the floor with a soft, wet thud. Geralt groaned, annoyed at the fact that the soap chose this particular moment to practice civil disobedience.

Kit cautiously poked her head around the room divider. “Need help?” He could see her still worried face in the mirror on the wall ahead of him.

“Would you mind helping me wash my hair? It’s a little difficult with just one hand.” Asking for help was not what he usually did but he had already resigned himself to the fact that his arm would be mostly useless for a few days.

She hesitated for a moment but then got up and grabbed the rebellious piece of soap. After a short look around, Kit opted for a milking stool like chair and placed it behind Geralt. She dipped the soap into the water and rubbed it between her hands to then spread the foam on Geralt’s hair. Geralt watched her every movement intently in the mirror until her delicate fingers touched his scalp for the first time and his brain short-circuited for a brief moment. Geralt closed his eyes and gave in to the blackness, feeling his body slacken bit by bit under her touch.

Kit moved her fingers in a circular motion over his head, massaging the soap into the roots of his hair using just the right amount of pressure. It took Geralt all he had not to let out a moan of pleasure. He felt a degree of warmth and relaxation that he had not known before. He imagined that his body must be melting and he found it difficult not to slip deeper into the water. It was like the pain had never even existed. All there was, was pleasure, relaxation and a weird but pleasant tingle wherever she touched him. He felt incredibly light, like nothing would ever able to drag him down again.

He wanted to protest when her hands left him to grab a little wooden bowl which she filled with water so she could rinse his hair. He was, however, appeased when one hand returned and shielded his eyes from the water as she carefully poured the contents of the bowl over his head.

She once again distributed the soap on his head – dried blood was tricky, he knew that and for once was thankful that it was so difficult to remove. She massaged and rubbed carefully but determined, expanding to his ears and neck. Nervous energy charged through Geralt and this time he did not have the self-restraint to stifle a moan. Kit withdrew her hands immediately.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” Her shocked face reflected in the mirror.

“No, you didn’t, don’t worry,” Geralt replied with a hoarse voice, trying his best to pretend that he was still in control of his body. His left hand felt for the muddy crust on his other shoulder. “I think this can go now. It should be fine.” Kit nodded and finally her hands resumed their task. He bit his lip when she rubbed over the sensitive spot behind his ear and shuddered when she reached the base of his skull. He could not remember any time in his life he had been treated like this. A woman’s caress had always been pure bliss to him but this was new. There was nothing matching the intensity he was experiencing at that very moment. He had been banged up and stitched together many times. He had been bathed repeatedly before being allowed to face whatever noble wanted to hire him. He had paid women to lie with him. And he had, though rarely, experienced love. But nothing had ever felt like this. Kit’s hands radiated a warmth that spread though his entire body. His nerves seemed to overcharge with pleasure whenever she dug the tips of her fingers into his skin with an exquisite amount of pressure. Geralt wished she would never stop.

Bit by bit and much too fast in his opinion, she chipped away at the crust, that Regis’ formula had dried into. He could feel how she carefully used her nails to remove pieces and then rinsed the area with water. Again and again, until there was nothing left to remove.

“Whatever this stuff is, I’m impressed. It looks like you barely got scratched. Actually…” She paused. Geralt saw her lower her head and inspect his shoulder in detail. “I must be tired or something. It looks like this wound is healing right before my eyes.” She blinked furiously. “I swear I can see it heal. Is that normal for your kind? You said you heal faster but this is impressive!” Her fingers stroked his wet skin from neck to shoulder and back, feeling along the neck muscle. And only then did Geralt realize that he, in fact, was not in pain anymore. He sat up straight and craned his neck to inspect his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that… there was nothing. All of a sudden, his senses, previously dulled and muted in the bath, came back to him. In a swift motion he jumped out of the tub to examine his wound in the mirror. Or rather the lack thereof. Only three thin markings, barely scratches, were visible. And just like Kit had said – they seemed to disappear right in front of his eyes. No, that was not normal, not even for a witcher. Not even for a witcher with access to Regis’ genius products. He was able to move his arm freely and without pain. However this healing had happened, it was not just superficial. Geralt wondered if Regis had possibly adjusted the formula to make it even more efficient but had neglected to inform the witcher about the change. He was going to have to ask whenever the politest vampire on the continent visited again, Geralt thought.

He turned around to give Kit an answer but noticed that she had hid behind the screen again. Considering, as he realized then, that he was still naked and also half aroused, maybe it was better this way.

Rather confused he returned to his beloved tub just to realize that it was not anywhere as comfortable now as it had been a few minutes ago. Deflated in several ways he got out again shortly after and wrapped a towel around his waist. Someone was going to pick up his dirty clothes, wash and mend them. He had no idea who did it but as a rule of thumb they would magically appear in his bedroom after a few days. Toussaint worked in its own mysterious ways.

He cleared his throat when he left the alcove and looked at Kit who stared down the book in her hands very intensely, her cheeks slightly blushed.

“Do you always read books upside down where you come from?” he asked with a crooked smile. With the pain gone he was in a much better mood.

“Yes, always.” She deadpanned. “It’s for the more sophisticated of us. Those who acknowledge societal conventions and don’t just jump around naked in front of strangers.” Her cheeks became a little pinker.

“I apologize for that. But just for the record,” Geralt felt like he was owed some cheekiness, “there are women out there who’d envy you for this.”

She lifted her head to look at him, obviously ready to toss out some quick remark, but her gaze got stuck halfway and she closed her mouth. Geralt knew this look all too well. It was always a variation of the same bouquet of emotions – the shock, the horror or the disgust. He was covered in scars and not all of them had healed well. The joy about his spontaneous healing was all but forgotten.

Sad blue eyes found his. “Have you ever considered not to be a witcher anymore? I think it would do great things for your life expectancy.” She tried to be funny but her voice betrayed her.

“Actually, I have. I’ve probably renounced my profession about ten times now. But what can I do? It always finds me.”

“You need to hide better.”

“Maybe it’s destiny. It has always had a way of finding me.” He shrugged.

Kit kept staring at him, tears in her eyes. She probably considers me absolutely disgusting, Geralt thought.

“I’m sorry for what you must have been through. I truly am.” A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Geralt was surprised and did not know what to say. He could not recall any moment in his life when a stranger had shown this much empathy towards him. But maybe they were not strangers anymore. They had talked a lot about their lives even though he was sure that she had as little a complete picture of him as he had of her and her world.

He felt a lot closer to her than he reasonably should in that short amount of time. Now he was scared that he had lost her, had driven her away with the ugly marks of his profession.

Kit got up. She was visibly shaken. Not taking things too well after all, Geralt noticed.

“I’m sorry, I need…” She did not finish the sentence but walked past him, evading him when he tried to reach out for her in an effort to provide a comforting gesture. She did not even glance at him as she dashed through the door.

They did not speak for the rest of the day. Geralt observed how Kit walked in circles around Corvo Bianco, occasionally stood at the stables or sat in the straw next to Roach. Sometimes she disappeared to elsewhere. She did not return until the evening and Geralt did not try to approach her. The fact that she apparently was so repelled by his true form saddened him greatly and made him think it was unlikely that he would be able to do anything to console her. He did not hold it against her, though. It was worse for her than it was for him, he reminded himself.

Madleine had put extra effort into creating the dishes for dinner as she always did whenever she got word that Geralt had had a rough day. Kit, though, hardly ate anything, did not speak at all.

She excused herself and went to bed. This night Geralt could hear her cry and sob. He wanted to go upstairs and console her but he did not know how.

Well after midnight he heard light footsteps descending down the stairs. A moment later the door to the outside opened and closed again.

For one horrible moment Geralt thought she might run away, finally. As disgusted by him, his scars and his nature as she should be. But he then heard her continuous sniffing. After a few minutes the sniffing turned into a hiccup.

He could not bear to just listen any longer and got out of bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's he gonna do? Sing "My favorite things" from the sound of music to her perhaps? Sounds like a totally Geralt-thing to do, if I'm not completely misinterpreting the books and games.


	6. The one with Kintsugi and the unwritten laws of dirty dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once had the ability to be precise. I lost that, not sure where. But after I'm done 'proofreading' my chapters, they magically have gained about 1000 words on average.  
> But then again I have nothing else to do and, since you're still reading this, I suppose neither have you ;)

Kit was sitting on a bench, hiccupping at the stars. Geralt had been living in Toussaint for years but every time he saw the night sky, it took his breath away anew. Seeing the deep blue sky that was illuminated by thousands and thousands of stars was always a humbling experience. It reminded him that his life, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing and therefore his problems meant nothing.

The night was warm but considerably cooler than the unbearably hot day. A light breeze made the grass dance in the moonlight.

Kit twitched nervously when the door creaked but calmed down when she saw who it was.

Geralt sat down next to her, unsure what to say and if she actually wanted him there. Thankfully she started the conversation.

“The sky is incredible. I don’t think I have ever seen this many stars.” He could sense the heat of the tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were puffed and red, she looked thoroughly miserable.

“But that’s not the reason you are crying,” he tried cautiously.

She shook her head. “I don’t recognize any constellation. Not even the big dipper.” She turned towards him. “It’s not my sky… I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

Then it dawned on Geralt - she had finally and truly understood the situation she was in.

“I don’t know how I got here. How will I get back? What about my family? Will I ever see them again?” She started shaking violently, burying her face in her hands. Geralt’s heart grew heavy seeing her like this. “What about my life? How do I even live here?”

He did the only thing he could think of: He hugged her tightly, one arm firmly wrapped around her back, pulling her as close as he possibly could, the other hand cupping the back of her head, stroking the soft, long hair. He nestled his face to hers, whispering in her ear, silently: “I’ll get you back home, I promise.” His skin prickled where it touched hers.

Kit’s heart skipped a beat. Then she wrapped her arms around Geralt’s neck, sniffing and hiccupping uninhibitedly.

Her hair had lost the fruity smell that, as she had explained to him, was coming from the shampoo she had used. After she had taken her first bath, the undefinable fragrance was gone. Now, she only smelled like warmth and, weirdly, comfort.

When she had calmed down a little, she leaned on his shoulder, her legs draped over his lap. She trembled ever so lightly. Geralt kept one arm tightly around her back, afraid she might just fall over if he took it away.

“How are you still alive and sane? This world is too much,” she mumbled.

“I was trained for this,” he answered stoically.

She stayed silent for a moment. “You were actually genetically altered. Monsters exist. Your witcher-Hogwarts probably also exists,” she recounted to herself. “How can I ever go anywhere again and not be afraid of something killing me on the way? How do people deal with this who are not like you? Who are like me?”

“You’re not on your own, I’ll help you,” Geralt answered. “If you want,” he added, remembering that the women who came into his life usually did not take well to being told what to do.

“Never thought I might need a bodyguard one day.” Kit let out a dry laugh. “It’s not very realistic though. I suppose there is no way for me to grab a pair of those cat eyes and all that comes with it?” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“I’m afraid not. The knowledge of the transitional processes has been lost a while ago. There will never be new witchers.” Not that it would have worked on a woman, he added in his thoughts.

“I’m not cut out for it anyway,” she whispered and touched the skin on his chest through the open collar of his shirt, feeling the lines of the scarred tissue. Geralt winced slightly, the sensation of her touching him being nearly too much.

“Sorry, did I…” She was about to remove her hand but Geralt pushed it back onto his chest firmly.

Blue eyes looked at him in confusion and wonder. When he did not say anything, she placed her head back on his shoulder and her fingers resumed tracing the outlines of his scars. He relished the shivers she sent through his body.

“It’s a miracle that you are still alive. I can’t even begin to imagine how much pain you must have been in.”

Most people, who saw his scars, just accepted them as decorations that came with the job. Kit was probably the first person to ever consider what he had to endure to survive looking like he did. Geralt had always thought that Regis was the most empathetic person he knew but Kit seemed to be a contender for this position.

“Sometimes it was worth it.”

“Sometimes,” Kit repeated. He felt her tears on his skin, hot, wet and full of despair.

“Sometimes lives were saved.”

“And… the other times?”

Geralt remembered being forced into fights for the amusement of others, feeling his skin tear while the audience clapped and screamed. He remembered the hopelessness he had felt when he had tried everything but it was not enough.

“They don’t matter. It’s all well now.” He believed what he said. As unreasonable as it might have been, he would do it all again if it meant he got to sit in this exact position, feeling soft fingers caress his skin. “Would be nice if people weren’t so repulsed all the time though,” Geralt added as an afterthought. Would his life have been any easier if he did not look like he had been torn apart and patched together repeatedly? Would people consider him less terrifying?

“Have you ever heard of kintsugi?”

He shook his head. “What’s that?”

“The term is Japanese. It describes the art of repairing broken ceramics. When they put the pieces back together, they use varnish and put gold powder or other valuable metals into the cracks. The broken pottery not only looks beautiful afterwards, it is, factually speaking, worth more than it was before.” She paused. “I think this is what your scars are, your very own version of kintsugi. Beautiful in their own way, every experience making you richer than before.”

Her kindness and the fact that she tried to console him when she was the one in an extraordinary situation baffled him. He hugged her even tighter, not willing to let go of her. Still, something bothered him.

“Beautiful?” he wondered aloud remembering her reaction from earlier on after she had seen the battlefield that was his body.

Kit just nodded.

“I got a very different impression this morning when you ran away from me and didn’t talk to me after you saw… everything.”

For a moment she seemed to freeze in his arms. “Sorry, that had nothing to do with you. I just… I can’t… I just realized a few things and it was all too much.” She sniffed. “It’s still too much actually.”

Kit’s hand had not ceased to caress the mangled skin on his chest. To Geralt that was proof enough that her words were true. He felt relieved.

Kit fell asleep, utterly exhausted, in Geralt’s lap.

For a little while longer he stroked her hair, not wanting to move her or wake her up. His knee however did not allow him to spent any more time in this position, so he carefully scooped her up. He treaded cautiously, not making a sound, and carried her up to her bed. Only when he lowered her onto the mattress did she regain consciousness for a moment.

“Please, don’t go,” she pleaded softly, before falling asleep again.

Geralt had sworn to himself, time and time again, not to get involved, not to bond. So, he did what he always did in such a situation: He got involved. And he stayed.

It was nearly noon when he woke as someone brushed some hair out of his face and behind his ear. The touch was soft and delicate, electrifying him. Last night he had pulled an armchair close to the bed and eventually fallen asleep with this head on the mattress.

Kit whispered his name.

Geralt slowly came to, rubbing the left side of his face that he had been sleeping on. He hissed when he tried to move his stiff neck.

“What are you doing here?” Kit asked, her face displaying confusion.

You begged me to stay, he thought. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said instead.

“Thank you, that’s very… sweet,” she said, looking rather astonished.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asked while moving his head in every possible direction to loosen up the tense muscles.

She shrugged. “We are basically strangers and yet… You took me in, you take care of me even though you have no obligation to – you make sure that I’m okay... I can honestly say that I don’t know any other person who’d do that for me. I owe you so much already.” He could tell that she was absolutely sincere, the tone of her voice devoid of sarcasm or irony.

Geralt nodded. “Let’s not be strangers anymore then.” He thought that there had to be an unwritten rule stating that once you fell asleep in someone else’s lap, you could not call yourself strangers any longer.

Kit smiled weakly.

Geralt spent the afternoon in the greenhouse, removing weeds, watering the plants and carefully choosing ingredients for potions to be prepared. Kit was elsewhere, scribbling into a book that he had given her. She said she needed to write down her thoughts or she was going to go crazy.

A crow was perched onto a replica of Reginald d’Aubry next to the entrance to the wine cellar. Geralt pondered for a moment before he spoke to the crow: “If you meet Regis, please let him know I could use his help.” He mumbled a thank you, feeling silly for talking to a bird, before he descended down into the basement to continue his work. When he was done, he prepared a letter to an old acquaintance in Novigrad. And while he considered it pointless, he still tasked Barnabas-Basil with finding out if during the past few days people had turned up in Toussaint who did not belong there. He knew that his majordomo was well connected in the area and letting him ask the questions would arouse much less suspicion than the witcher investigating himself.

Geralt was determined to contact Ciri in case his efforts did not amount to anything. But that was easier said than done. During her last visit she had mentioned that, after returning to Nilfgaard for a month, she was planning on travelling between the worlds for a while. Ciri argued that, in order to be a good ruler, she needed to learn how other countries were ruled, preferably those with more modern societies. Emhyr certainly did not like it when she disobeyed his demands, but he had no means to stop the force of nature that she had become. Sending a letter to Ciri was pointless, it would never reach her as his endeavors in the past had shown. Geralt was a persona non grata in the empire and Emhyr would do everything he could to interfere with his plans and limit the witcher’s interaction with his child surprise.

But that, Geralt thought, was going to be a problem for another day. He felt stuck in an impossible scenario: He understood that Kit needed to go home because she suffered. But he did not want to let her go as he liked her being so close to him.

Kit walked through the shallow river behind the house to cool herself off. The day had been obscenely hot and she had traded her usual outfit for one of Geralt’s shirts that she wore as a short dress, pulled together at the waist by an old belt. Geralt smiled to himself. Seeing her like this somehow lifted his spirits. Maybe having a woman wear his shirt was even better than seeing her naked, he thought.

But more than that Geralt was relieved to find her to be her usual self, a whole different person from the one who had fallen asleep crying just yesterday.

He noticed her fingers were smeared with ink.

“You know, the ink belongs on the paper, not on your skin,” he remarked drily.

“You know, feathers are for birds and make shitty tools for writing,” she retorted while balancing on a few bigger stones in the riverbed.

“Then what would you prefer? How do your people do it?”

“My people are lazy, so we don’t. We just talk into our phones and have them write it down for us.” She smiled. “Our entire lives evolve around us finding more ways to be lazy.”

“Then you must have a lot of time on your hands. What do you do with it?”

“Cats.”

“What?” For a brief moment Geralt was not sure if she maybe had lost her mind after all.

“Sorry, that was a joke. One that is so ingrained into our society that there would be no point in trying to explain it to you. You have to be part of it to understand it.” She shot him an apologizing glance.

Geralt shook his head in disbelief. “You are a fish out of water and yet you are trying to give me the feeling that I am the one who has no idea what’s going on.”

She sighted. “That’s me, panicking. My usual methods for working out problems don’t apply here. I’m not just a fish out of water, I’m a fish who’s about to fall into an active volcano.” She plopped down on the grass and grabbed her book. “Virtually all my abilities are useless in this world because the things I’m good at don’t even exist. How am I supposed to earn money and make a living?” Without breathing she continued: “Sadly, my only idea so far is becoming a prostitute. And I don’t like that.”

“You will not become anything of the sort.” Anger sounded in Geralt’s voice.

Kit chuckled. “I’d be the worst prostitute on the planet. I hate being touched by strangers. The thought of having to… engage with someone I don’t know is close to vomit-inducing. So, if you have any better ideas, I’m all ears.” She shuddered, clearly playing through the aforementioned scenario in her head.

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and made an effort to sound less aggressive.

“You can stay here as long as you want. You don’t need to worry about work, you will be cared for. Understood?” He could not believe he actually had to say it out loud. Was it not obvious?

“Geralt, I very much appreciate that but…” She sighted. “I don’t like living out of your pocket, not being able to return the favor. This is not how I was raised. You’ve given me so much already and I have nothing to give to you in return.” What was it, Geralt wondered, that he did to always attract these headstrong, proud women?

“You are a stubborn little thing.” He sat down on the grass next to her.

“I’m not little. You’re not even a head taller than me.” She rolled her eyes.

“Anything or anyone I can just throw over my shoulder is little.”

“That’s a stupid way of classifying things. You’re pure muscle and a mutant on top of it, you can throw grown men over your shoulder. Actually,” she laughed wholeheartedly, “you could probably do the Swayze-lift from dirty dancing with a grown man. I’d pay to see that.”

“No, you wouldn’t, you don’t have any money,” he replied, not knowing what she was even talking about but trying his best to play along.

“Well, you’d pay for me to see that.”

“Then I’d be paying myself.”

She nodded. “Yes, you would. You just said a minute ago you’d provide for me. I assume that includes entertainment.”

Geralt smiled. He liked it when she started these silly arguments.

“I guess so. But… tell me more about this dirty dancing and the Swayze-thing.” Geralt did not dance nor did he care to, but he wondered whether the dancing she talked about was literally or just figuratively speaking dirty. He could probably muster some interest in the latter.

“Dirty Dancing is a movie from the late 80s, so it’s about 30 years old now. Oh, and a movie is like a theater play that has been, so to speak, conserved so you can see it again any time you like. Anyway, the movie is pretty well-known. An innocent girl from an uptight family learns how to dance with this guy, I don’t know his name. But the actor is called Patrick Swayze. At the end of the stay there is a competition and they decide to choreograph a dance to compete. And the highlight is the lift. She runs at him, he grabs her by the hips and lifts her above his head.” She imitated the motion with her arms. “Obviously, it’s a love story. If you analyze it on more levels it’s also a story about emancipation and the different prospects of people with and without money. But we all watch it for the romance...”

“Do you dance? Have you ever done this… dirty dancing?” Geralt had no idea where these questions came from but he figured that, if he wanted to understand her better, he had to ask these things, even if it made him feel a little ridiculous. He had realized early on that his usual brooding, taciturn ways would not get him anywhere with the fast and always-talking Kit.

Kit blushed. “No, I’m not a dancer. And all the men I know are weak, they wouldn’t be able to do this.”

“Just out of curiosity: Do you think I could do it?” Again, Geralt was not quite sure what exactly he was asking.

“No. Not because I think you can’t lift me, I know you can, I mean I’ve seen the…” she gestured in his vague direction, “and all. But that’s not how it works. It would be sacrilegious not to practice in a lake first. Also, I’m kind of scared that you’d overdo it and I would faceplant straight into the ground.”

Geralt was thoroughly confused again. Why was a lake needed for all of that? Maybe he had to ask something easier, something that could be mirrored in both worlds.

“You’ll have to explain the lake business to me at some point. You are really not making much sense.” Geralt cracked his neck. It still had not quite recovered from the last night.

“You will get used to it, I promise.” She apologetically shrugged her shoulders.

“Tell me about the people who raised you to become so damn complicated.” Kit lowered her gaze. Her big blue eyes looked very sad all of a sudden. But eventually she told him about her family. Her parents seemed very nice and normal, he concluded, and had provided a sheltered life for Kit and her younger brother. They were not rich, but they were affluent enough to offer their children certain opportunities.

“I love them very much. The thought of never seeing them again kills me.” Geralt tried his best to emphasize but it was hard. He told her how he knew nothing about his father, and his mother had given him away. It was so long ago, he barely had any memories of the life back then.

“How old are you even?” Kit looked at him curiously. “Your face doesn’t match your hair color. It’s been bothering me all this time.”

“Well over 100 years now. I feel older every time I look into a mirror.”

Kit whistled appreciatively. “For someone that old you look dashing. I would have assumed you’re in your late 40s at most.”

“Is _dashing_ the word you use to make an old man feel better about himself?” He studied her reaction carefully.

“Are you really going to pretend that you are not the most popular man around here? Remember, I saw how all the ladies were ogling you. Do you really need me to swoon over you, too?” she asked jokingly. No, he thought, but I want you to. With women from here it was so easy to tell: They either liked him or they did not. It did not take much in terms of deductive skills to guess their opinions since they were not shy about expressing them. Sometimes no talking at all was needed and they ended up in bed anyway. However, with Kit he could not tell. Was she flirting with him? Or was she making fun of him? Irony and sarcasm seemed to be at her core. But aside from that, she only knew a part of the truth. He was popular, certainly, but not in a way he liked. That whole matter was an exhausting story of and on its own.

“It’s complicated and not at all what it looks like.” He cracked his neck again, hissing silently. Kit eyed him up critically.

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“With what?”

“Wrong answer. Do you trust me?” she repeated.

“Yes?” Geralt figured that this was the only correct answer or the only answer she would accept.

Kit patted her hand on the grass next to her. “Lie down and let me see if I can do something about your neck.”

Assuming that whatever she planned on doing would lead to her touching him, Geralt obeyed immediately.

She sat down behind his head. Kit placed her hands at his neck, her fingers meeting in the recess of his spine just below his skull. Carefully, she dug her fingertips into the indentation and started to draw towards the front, stopping short before his ears. A wave of pleasure and relaxation washed over Geralt immediately and he closed his eyes, his mouth falling slightly open. Kit repeated the motion over and over again.

“Now, relax your head and neck,” she instructed. She lifted his head with one arm, twisted it to the side carefully, while her other hand massaged along his neck, down to his shoulder, stretching the entire area.

“What did you say your job was?” Geralt asked while he felt all tension slipping away from him.

“Just an office job. Why?”

“Why does someone, who works in an office, know how to massage?”

“I used to have back issues all the time from sitting so much because I didn’t believe in the magic of working out. My physiotherapist did this whenever my neck hurt.” Without setting his head back on the ground she changed the arm beneath it and continued the stretching motion on the other side. “I’m not at all qualified to do this. You might or might not be sore tomorrow. We’ll see.” Geralt only hummed. He did not care whether he would be sore at any point or turn into a pickle, as long as she kept doing what she did.

“Also, don’t ever let someone, who’s not qualified, work on your spine like that.”

“But you just said you weren’t qualified.”

“That’s what I said,” she confirmed.

“Are you telling me that I should not let you do this right now?”

“Yes.”

“Your warning is a little late, don’t you think?”

“Sue me then.”

“Sue you for what?”

“All I have, I guess?”

“You have nothing.”

“Yup. Go for it.”

He smiled. “I could sue you for your, what did you call them, yoga pants?”

“Ah, yes. I’m sure they’d look terrific on you.” She chuckled. Geralt smiled.

Eventually, she placed his head back on the grass. He had not opened his eyes yet, when he heard her move next to him to lie down as well.

“You know more about magic than I do.” Her tone had become serious again. ”What do you think happened? How did I get here? You must have a theory at least.” When he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her, he saw her looking straight at him, her face showing a mix of desperation and truculence.

“It’s hard to say.” He paused, not sure where to begin. He remembered the initial thought that had popped into his head when he had first talked to her. “Something like this has happened before. A conjunction of spheres that brought all sorts of beings into this world from other worlds, humans amongst them. But that was a large-scale event that displaced a multitude of beings. I don’t know of any similar occurrence affecting just one person. It seems very unlikely.”

“But it has happened before?”

“Over 1500 years ago…”

“Mh… I feel like the butt of a cosmic joke.” She turned on her stomach. “Maybe it’s not even relevant how I got here. But _why_? Just _why_ would you pry someone out of their live and throw them into a different world?”

Geralt was unable to answer to answer her question. He had not even bothered to ask this question as he had already chalked it up to cosmic chaos – there was no reason. Just randomness, sometimes disguised as destiny.

“Maybe time will tell.” He turned his head to find Kit staring plucking some blades of grass.

“That reminds me: I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That dress that I ordered? For the wine festival?”

“What about it?”

She turned her head back towards him. “I kind of believed that this was a game when I ordered it. I didn’t think you’d actually be paying for it. Otherwise I would not have dared to waste your money like this.”

Geralt smiled. “I’m not going bankrupt any time soon. But what do you mean with you _kind of_ believed?”

She turned her face back to the sky, closing her eyes. “It’s like most peoples’ relationship statuses on facebook around 2009: complicated.”

“Facebook? What’s that? A collection of actual faces?” Geralt tried a new strategy where, whenever she said something that he could not make any sense of at all, he would pick one thing and ask about it.

“Wow, that went dark quickly.” She laughed. “No, god, no, this is not game of thrones. Or so I would hope.” For about half an hour Kit tried to explain the concept of social networks to Geralt who quickly realized that he should have asked about something else. Anything else.

“Well, just a few more days and we’ll see if the money spent was worth it.”

“I’ll be very disappointed if it was not. I’m actually looking forward to this.”

Geralt was relieved to hear this as it meant that next to sadness and despair, there was still room for something positive in her mind. And so, for the first time in forever, he was looking forward to the festival, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's a better dancer? Geralt or Pickle-Geralt? Let's never find out!
> 
> Also: Kit isn't suddenly from Kansas. I just added this because I feel like every story that is about world/time travel needs to reference the big ones. For anybody who's not familiar with it: This one is from The Wizard of Oz.


	7. The one with the interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts.

_Dear reader,_

_I do not know who you are. In fact, I don’t know whether or not you are at all. Maybe these pages will remain forever unread. But I am addressing you anyway – I have always been able to sort out and understand things best when I explained them to others. Yes, I am that annoying know-it-all who, when learning in a group, will waltz over you with all her knowledge. It makes me feel better about myself. Sorry, I know I suck that way._

_Anyway, I will explain to you what happened to me, or what I perceive has happened to me. And you, dear reader, may draw your own conclusions from it. Or not. Maybe you will use these pages to light a fire. That is really up to you._

_Here it goes: I woke up. I had this feeling that sometimes one has after a really good nap. The kind of nap that you awake from with a bolt, thinking you just missed the school bus - only to realize you are over 30 years old and have not seen a school from the inside for well over a decade. I was drowsy, confused. I felt for my smartphone to check the time because I really wasn’t sure whether it was 3 in the morning or possibly already Christmas. I wasn’t able to find my phone though. You see, dear reader, my phone is always on my nightstand. That is probably where it still is at this very moment. Sadly, my nightstand was not where I was. So, bummer. Like any millennial I am more or less attached to my phone and not being able to find it results in many tiny heart and panic attacks. I once accidentally put my phone in the fridge after I unloaded my groceries and let me tell you, fridges are very well insulated – not only temperature-wise but also when it comes to sounds – nobody can hear you ring!_

_Anyway, since my phone was 404, I tried for the light switch of the lamp on my nightstand. Same problem though: Nightstand still was not where I was in that moment. Again, bummer._

_It probably took me a whole minute to realize that I wasn’t in my bedroom. In a bed, yes. In a bedroom, check. But in my bedroom? Nope. Not my room at my parents’ house either. Or any other room that I had ever been to. Neither a hospital room._

_For a moment I was sure I was still dreaming but I have never been a lucid dreamer. No matter how strange my dreams were, I was never able to question them (and that one time when I was with Michael Jackson and we were riding on flying bikes – that should have told me something, especially since he had already been dead for a few years by then). And none of my dreams ever came with smell. However, the smell of lavender was very much present. It was then that my senses came back on like the lights after a blackout, one after the other. I felt the linen bedsheets under my hands, noticed I was wearing socks – which I never do in bed. People who do that are sick and need help. I felt my body being hugged by the gymshark set (ombre, turquoise) which I had gotten for my birthday._

_And finally, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. There were only a few tiny windows in the room but they let enough light in so that I was able to tell that it was early in the morning, shortly before sunrise. I even found my trusty running shoes arranged neatly next to the bed. Which, dear reader, I would never do, meaning I was not alone._

_I probably aged a good decade in the following moments and my pounding heart could be heard through the entire house. Panic hit me again but not the millennial-smartphone-panic but actual, proper panic. Because, just ask yourself, what would be your first thoughts if you found yourself in a strange place with no memory of how you got there? Mine were: Someone abducted me, locked me in. I was probably going to be raped, maybe tortured and killed. Not necessarily in this order._

_I was literally frozen in place for a few seconds. And by ‘literally’ I mean figuratively because it was pleasantly warm (but the Oxford English dictionary allows literally to be used in this very un-literal way so I feel like I should be allowed to do that too). It was a little like the ice-bucket-challenge – the shock of the ice-cold water hitting you and rendering your body immobile for a brief moment that, to me, felt very long. I have never, in my entire life, felt as horrified as I did in this particular moment._

_I have seen all the horror movies. Well, not all of them but enough. Panicking was not going to get me anywhere. Be like Sherlock, I thought. See what you can deduce. And let me tell you, dear reader, that was not much. No sockets, no lamps. The internet probably sucked. But without my trusty smartphone, which made up about 85% of my brain capacity, that was the least of my worries._

_When I noticed that the door to the bedroom was open, I was a little relieved for that had to mean one of two things: Either my kidnappers were idiots and there was a miniscule chance that I could deal with them, or there was no harm intended and at least the part about being locked in was not accurate. I scanned the room for something to be used as a weapon anyway (remember, I have seen the movies, I know what to do) but the room was mostly empty besides spare pillows, an armchair and a mannequin. There was a huge trunk as well, filled to the brim with weird clothes that would serve me very well in a bad taste costume competition, but that were unfit to help me in my current situation._

_I breathed so my heart would stop beating in my ears before I put my shoes on, ready to run if I had to._

_When I had finally calmed myself down, I tiptoed to the door. There were stairs that led down into a small dining room with high ceilings. I recognized it as a dining room because there was a sizeable table that, next to a fruit bowl, had a few candlesticks on it – candles lit and all. They were bright enough for me to properly inspect the room. No lamps, no sockets, no phones. The building reminded me of some that I had seen in open-air museums where they displayed the way of life from hundreds of years past._

_Enter the witcher. The sneaky white-haired ninja stood there all of a sudden, giving me a little jolt. Curiously enough, I did not feel scared (not much anyway) even though that would have been a reasonable reaction. Because, dear reader, you must know that I am not half as clever as I like to pretend I am, and even in a possible life and death scenario my brain likes to get hung up on details, which led to the following train of thought:_

_His white hair did not match his face. To me he looked like someone in his mid or late-40s at most. But then I figured his hair was dyed to look like this, very accurately at that as no dark roots were showing. He had his shoulder-length hair in a ponytail, a short but full beard and therefore, I concluded, must be a hipster, just a little taller and broader than the average specimen. Hipsters, at most, are annoying but not dangerous. You can quote me on that._

_I pride myself on being able to tell fairly quickly if a person is likeable or not. And I came to the conclusion that Geralt (that is his name) was nobody to be scared of. The way he talked to me gave me the feeling that everything was going to be okay. I found him quite easy to be around and very pleasant in general. This is hard to explain but I felt like we quickly connected in a way that I rarely click with other people. Maybe you have experienced this too where you become friends with a stranger incredibly fast because everything just seems to fit so perfectly? And you feel like you have known each other for years and not just days or weeks? It happened about three times to me in my entire life and the resulting friendships have always been incredibly special. Other people I might have known for decades longer but I never felt the same closeness to them. Isn’t it funny how that works? Especially in this case where there was no common ground at all between the two of us. A healthy dose of quasi-Stockholm-Syndrome might have accelerated the process though..._

_I am saying this now that a few days have passed since this initial meeting. We talked a lot and I feel like I know him much better than I should._

_But that happened later, of course. During this initial encounter I could only tell that, unlike with other strangers, he did not scare me or make me feel uncomfortable but quite the opposite._

_Dear reader, maybe you don’t understand how strange that is but I am someone who doesn’t like strangers very much, especially men. I don’t like to talk to them, I absolutely despise being touched by them. They make me feel queasy. Not Geralt though. I felt, considering the circumstances, at ease._

_Okay, from here on it’s getting messy. I would love to write this down in a structured way but I can’t. The chaos in my head won’t let me. But please bear with me._

_Geralt had strange golden eyes, soft and warm, with pupils like those of a cat. I figured that he must be wearing contact lenses even though he basically proved to me that his eyes were very much real. But I am stubborn. It was going to take me a while to understand what was going on - because I’m also pretty dumb (just putting it out there – I am aware of it)._

_He had several scars in his face but they did not diminish his good looks in any way. Yes, you read that right. I, possibly being in mortal danger, was still ruled by my ovaries. Though at this moment I only faintly realized that he was handsome – handsome in a way that a lot of people were before you actually got to know them. Personality, after all, is what creates attraction to me. And while I considered him generally pleasant, I did not feel drawn to him at all in that initial moment. I flirted with him anyway – that was an automatism that I had picked up at work. Everything becomes easier when you compliment people from time to time. And I guess I wanted to make myself more likeable, just in case my impression of him was wrong and he was not who I perceived him to be._

_My working theory at that point was that he was an actor – even less reason to be afraid. Everything was a well-orchestrated play where they would pretend to live in the Middle-Ages and I amongst them. I am calling this the Austenland-Realization because it reminded me of the movie of the same name._

_I really wanted to believe in this scenario. To quote Sherlock Holmes: Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth._

_Makes sense, right?_

_Time travel isn’t possible where I come from, not even talking about transporting someone into an alternate universe. Following the logic of my favorite literary detective, there was only one explanation: My environment had to be fake._

_But the longer I stayed, the more doubts piled up in my brain. Finally realizing the truth happened over several stages._

_Let’s start right at the beginning: Someone I know agreeing to me being drugged and abducted. Have I so gravely misjudged my friends and family, all of them people I have known for at least a decade, if not my entire life? Improbable? Yes, absolutely. Impossible? No. After all, this could have started out as a joke, planned by my friends, where boundaries were grossly overstepped but that had seemed like a good idea in the heat of the moment. My birthday had only been a few days ago, it did make sense. To a degree anyway._

_But the list of things that did not quite go hand in hand with my theory grew quickly. Big things, but also small things that were not immediately apparent. It was on the third day that I realized that I had not seen a plane or any marks that would suggest that there were planes. No helicopter noises, no skydivers, no zeppelins, no flashing lights of space stations in the evening, no nothing. Where I live, the sky is never empty. But apparently absence is harder to notice than presence, so it took me a while to consciously become aware of it. An empty sky: Improbable? Yes. Impossible: Not at all, especially now that public life and air travel were mostly shut down for virus reasons._

_There were a lot of things about Beauclair, too, that only got to me afterwards. I consider myself a rather creative person, meaning I can come up with a whole bunch of reasons as to why things that should have been suspicious were not. The mental gymnastics I had to do in order to keep my illusion going weren’t even that exhausting. I didn’t realize it back then, it was like my brain automatically filled in all those gaps for me. Probably because there just seemed to be no viable alternative even though Geralt tried his best to convince me - without further traumatizing me, as he told me later on. Otherwise he would have done a couple of things that might have actually convinced me… Lighting a candle is one thing, blasting fire from your hands is something entirely different, don’t you agree?_

_So, what am I even talking about? Assuming this, the entire city, was a tourist attraction, an expanded stage play, there still should have been signs for emergency exits (because legal requirements etc.). Just as an example. Not even talking about the size of the city, its realistic look and all the ‘actors’ that were required to keep the play going. But someone could have built it somewhere in a legal grey space (thinking about some godforsaken piece of land in the Chinese countryside for starters; I don’t think there is any country in the world that has more modern ghost towns than China). I don’t doubt that this would have been an insanely expensive affair but someone could have built something like this. Improbable? Absolutely. With a healthy dose of batshit crazy (looking at you and your Mars-travels, Jack Ma). But impossible? No, not technically. Again, the alternative was something that was actually physically impossible._

_There was more though, that famous ‘one more thing’. Something that had nothing to do with what I saw. Some sort of sixth sense was tingling at the back of my mind permanently and prevented me from wholly believing in what I wanted to be true. Like I said, all these realizations came in stages. And while my spidey-sense was the first one to go off, I simply didn’t realize it back then._

_Every little thing that didn’t fit my chosen narrative made me guess my theory more, whether I wanted to acknowledge it or not._

_But still, the alternative, all of this being real, was too much to stomach. Just on top of the fact that this alternative just seemed even more unlikely, no, impossible. I mean, magic and time travel and world travel into an alternate reality? Seriously? I make fun of people who believe in horoscopes and all that crap. Obviously, I was not going to just accept things like ‘magic’ because they seemed at tad more likely than someone building a town that was used as a huge stage. Sherlock wasn’t wrong. But I didn’t realize that some fundamental parameters had changed, that something that used to be impossible was not impossible anymore. I find it hard to blame myself for that because how could I have known?_

_What else was there to do? The landscape was empty, I was not going to get anywhere without a car. And, in all honesty, even in that moment I was able to appreciate the beauty of the land (after all, this big city child loves nature and quiet). Sometimes the wisest thing to do is to grab the lifeline to sanity that is thrown at you (or that you made up yourself) no matter how feeble it is. Consequentially, I played along as it was the only thing I could do. Geralt was not going to give me the answers to my questions so I had to wait and see._

_I am fairly certain my reaction to all of this would have been quite a different one had I known what I know now._

_But I didn’t know better. Until I did, when he fought an actual monster. The incredible speed at which Geralt moved, the obviously very real monster… The metallic stench of his blood is what I remember most clearly. Everything else went by in a blur but that I’ll remember forever. And the way his wound healed? There was so much blood, I saw how deep the wound was for just a brief moment, but all that was visible in the end were a few scratches. Nothing more. If that is not supernatural, then what is? It was later that night that I realized the sky looked different from the one at home. I know next to nothing about stars but I’ve always been able to find the big dipper. It was not there. It is beyond me how I managed to oversee this but I guess I was just taken in by the sky’s general beauty. Where I live light pollution makes it impossible to see any stars at all, making the sky of Toussaint an absolute overkill for my eyes. Like van Gogh’s Starry Night but on all the drugs at the same time._

_In retrospect I consider myself lucky that all these realizations came in stages. Otherwise it would have been too much for me. Well, it still was too much for me, but it would have too much in a way that I’m certain I would not have recovered from. Does that make sense to you?_

_Magic exists. I have to write it down so I can better wrap my head around this fact. It does exist. And believe me, dear reader, when I say I’ve tried to cogito ergo sum the shit out of this. René Decartes would be proud of me (if he ever existed). Maybe nothing is real and we all are just brains in tanks, living in a simulated world like Neo and his buddies in the Matrix did. But, either way, this new reality felt exactly as real as the old one. So either both are real or both are not real. But they are real (even if they are unreal) in the same way. This world is not in any way less than the one I’m from. I thought about this a lot because another explanation would be that this is all a dream, that maybe I got hit by a car or whatever and now I’m as comatose as a cucumber. But, like I said, this world felt absolutely real so I ruled this option out. I just knew, with absolute certainty (spidey-sense!), that it was not even an option at all._

_Therefore, I resign myself to the fact that I am in a different world. A world that is not only different from mine in terms of magic and beasts, but that also exists in a time period that I would roughly classify as the Middle-Ages._

_It was after Geralt finished his bath and I saw all the scars he was covered in. That’s the moment that it finally sank in, when I truly understood the consequences. His scars made it real. Why? I don’t know. Maybe all these scars meant that there have been and were going to be more monsters, more fighting, more injuries, more stitches. That there was a past to this and, therefore, also a future._

_The consequences of that hit me like a ton of bricks. I cannot describe it other than I felt like my soul was torn from my physical body, like I was experiencing some sort of dissonance that was too strong for me to handle. I left a wet Geralt standing there, who was wondering what the hell was going on with me and drew all the wrong conclusions from it. I just couldn’t talk to anyone, it was too much for me. My vision got blurry, my head felt like it was about to explode - other than that my body seemed to be completely numb. All I wanted to do was to scream until my throat couldn’t make a sound anymore and cry until there was nothing left in me (but I didn’t because I’m a big girl and I wanted to do that at night, in bed, when nobody could see me). Why, you wonder, was I so dramatic all of a sudden? I’m not entirely sure either. It probably had something to do with that last bit of realization: What did I leave behind?_

_You must know, dear reader, that I am a real person. With feelings and such. It’s been a few days, surely my parents and brother are worried sick. I miss them and it pains me so much that I can’t tell them that I’m okay. I have these horrible images in my head. My funeral, the casket empty, since I’m not there. My family crying about their lost daughter who simply vanished. This is so much worse than dying – at least then they would have had closure. But now they will forever (?) wonder what happened to me. It is eating me up that I have no way of telling them. I would gladly accept the fact that I must live and die in this world if I could just tell them that I am okay. My heart is broken. What wouldn’t I give for a call from my dad because the printer needs fixing? A message from my mom, containing some funny-unfunny video that someone had forwarded her? Or some way too long voice message from my brother, asking me something that he could easily figure out on his own if he could be bothered to type the question into google?_

_Yesterday I cried my eyes out on Geralt’s shoulder. Poor witcher. Never in my life could I have imagined a situation where I would voluntarily lean on a stranger like that. It is so unlike me. I used to be tough and independent – where did that go? I hardly confess these kinds of sorrows to my closest friends. Not that I ever had sorrows that compared to waking up in a different world._

_Incidentally, this was also the moment I realized that I had gotten to like him a lot. He held me, had his strong arms and big hands wrapped around me so firmly – they were probably holding me together, keeping me from shattering into pieces. I was leeching onto him and his warmth as if my life depended on it. Which, let’s be honest, it probably does._

_Again: Hindsight. I think I might have felt drawn to him since very early on. Initially because he was something of a safe haven in a world full of unknowns (also Stockholm-Syndrome, can’t emphasize that enough). Later, because he made me feel welcome. Because he cared for me despite having no obligation to do so._

_When he held me, I realized I was already familiar with the way he smelled – because he had always kept so close to me, something, that I hadn’t even been aware of. Which is ridiculous just considering his physical presence alone. But all those hours together in the saddle, all those times he lifted me from that same damn saddle, all the times we sat together and talked…_

_As I said, I can only deal with so many things at once and developing a crush onto the handsome guy who had picked me up wasn’t a priority. It’s probably a good thing though. It might distract me occasionally from feeling sorry for myself. But I don’t think that anything will come from it, after all I have nothing to offer him. Because what do I have that someone with superhuman abilities might want?_

_It’s beyond my control anyway. When he hugged me, squeezed my pieces back together, I realized how lonely I had been in that past half year of isolation and social distancing. Since I hadn’t fancied accessories like e.g. a breathing tube in my throat, I had hidden away in home-office, had barely met anyone. I stuck with all the regulations to protect me and people weaker than me. And now I was reminded of how great physical affection feels. Turns out I’m pretty damn needy. Or he’s just a terrific hugger. Or he’s a terrible hugger and my standards have just decreased a lot. Who knows?_

_Anyway, he now knows I’m weak and lost. No matter how much effort I put into rebuilding that façade, he won’t ever believe me again._

_They say it takes one to know one. He appears to be like me to a degree – hiding certain things behind the façade which he shows to the world. And he’s very good at it. It’s been some time and I’m constantly surprised to discover more patience and gentleness behind his scarred outer shell._

_So far I could not have wished for a more gracious person to have picked me up – but how long will that last? I have no way of supporting myself. The moment he loses interest in me and sends me away, I’ll be on my own. In a world that plays by different rules, in a world that renders all my abilities, all my studies completely useless._

_He does not say it though. He has assured me, in the most believable way, that I will be cared for. He seems so sincere that I want to believe him but I am too rational for this. Because why on earth would he care?_

_Here is the list_

_Negatives_

  * _I’m not home_
  * _My family must be in pain about my sudden absence and I can’t do anything about it – it’s driving me mad! I can’t handle the thought of my loved ones suffering_
  * _My future is uncertain_



_Positives_

  * _Geralt is caring for me in a way that no stranger ever did and I think I really like him_
  * _This world is beautiful_
  * _Maybe there is hope once I learn about this place?_



_So, here is the plan: I will live in this world, get to know it better, try to find a place for me. Maybe there is something I can do to make sure I can live here – financially speaking. And when that is settled I will figure out if there is any way I can be brought back home. Or maybe I can find some red slippers, click the heels together and that’s how it works? Tried it already with my sneakers, obviously I was not successful hence my wasting this ink._

_I’m still hoping, every morning, that I wake up in my bed at home. With all those crazy things that have happened, shouldn’t this be an option, too?_

_Home. Home. Home. Maybe if I write and think enough about it, it’ll just happen?_

_I will try my best not to let my sadness and worries get me down. I cannot change what happened and crying about my parents and brother won’t do anything for me. I will try, to the best of my abilities, to appreciate everything that is good about this new place and take my energy from that. After all, I am just a human and I need something good in my life to hold on to. I cannot thrive on fear and worries. And me being sad and hopeless will help neither my family nor me._

_Also: Terrific big man hugs._

_But there is one thing that really bothers me. Dear reader, you are probably familiar with the feeling of your sock slipping off your foot while walking in your boots? That annoying feeling where you know it is not actually going to slip off but creates a permanent tension because it still feels like it will? I was struggling with this sock, except it was not on my foot but on my brain. I wonder what it means? This feeling has been present all the time but it intensified after my little breakdown. I know it sounds odd, but I feel like my body and mind aren’t properly fused together – in a way that yoga can’t fix (also: I hate yoga)._

_Dear reader, I wish I could learn your thoughts concerning my predicament. Would you act differently from the way I do? Have you maybe figured it all out already? Do you know what happened to me? Will you, in the future, be able to tell what happened to me, knowing what you know?_

_And most importantly: Do you know WHY it happened?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do realize that writing this fish-out-of-water type of story works much better in 1st person but I wanted to challenge myself and write it in 3rd person without giving AAA to Kit's head all the time. So I did something that Sapkowski likes to do (who employed it for other reasons cause he's a real author with an actual story to tell). So, diary entry it is.
> 
> Anyway, dust off your fancy ball gowns cause next chapter we're going to a festival and might finally have (a little piece of) the romance that I advertised in my hand-picked, organically free-range raised tags.


	8. The one with the drunk snacks and the romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally something other than talking.

The days went by. In the mornings, before the sun heated up the oven that was Toussaint, Kit went for a run. Just around Corvo Bianco – she did not dare to venture out any further ever since she had accepted that monsters were real. Geralt tried his best to convince her that she did not have to fear another attack as these had become so rare but then again, he was more at ease knowing she was just around the corner. During the day he showed her the area and places he liked. In the evenings Kit made it a habit to scribble into her notebook. Geralt would have given anything to have a look into it, to understand her better, but he dared not to trespass into her private sphere. 

Kit spent the days reading through Geralt’s little library, learning about all sorts of things. And if she was not learning from books she learned from the people who worked at the vineyard. One day Rita Bernard, an elderly woman who helped to keep the gardens in order, taught her how to weave reed baskets.

“I like to keep my hands busy,” Kit replied when Geralt returned home one evening to find several reed baskets of varying sizes strewn across the dining table. The baskets looked very much like accidents and Geralt made a point of keeping his opinion about them to himself.

Kit also befriended the cats which, during the midday heat, would gather in the shades of the stable. She held a slender grey one in her arms when she noticed that it had a white heart-shaped patch of fur beneath its jaw.

“Look at that!” she exclaimed excitedly, holding the cat in her outstretched arms towards Geralt. The cat, which just a moment ago had enjoyed being pampered by Kit, furiously hissed at Geralt.

“Huh?” Kit took the cat back into an embrace and it meowed happily again.

“Cats hate me,” Geralt explained. Kit critically raised an eyebrow. She held the cat out again and it hissed again.

“Wow, this one really doesn’t like you,” she concluded.

At some point early on Geralt had tried to lure the cats with tasty treats but soon had to realize that his negotiations would never lead to a satisfying agreement. Kit sat the grey cat back one on the floor.

“How many cats do you even have?” she asked while she started petting the other cat, a particularly fat black one.

“Not sure, somewhere between one and three I think.” He shrugged.

“You probably didn’t name them I assume?” The black cat rolled onto its back, sprawling and letting Kit pet his belly.

“What do you think?”

“Yeah, what did I expect from a guy who has been giving all his horses the same name?” She chuckled. “I christen thee… Sir Pounce!” Sir Pounce, who was too fat and had certainly not pounced on anything in years, meowed.

Geralt gave her credit for trying. Kit hid her sadness and worries as best as she could but it was obvious that her happiness was shallow.

“Maybe I can help with the harvest when they start in a few weeks?” she asked him one evening over dinner.

Annoyed Geralt blew out air through his nose. “I’m telling you again: You don’t have to work here. You are my guest.”

She nodded. “I appreciate this very much. But unless you have something more fun to offer, I would like to do something with my time.”

The witcher pondered for a moment. “What do you do all day in your world?”

Kit thought about it for a moment. “Most of the non-sleeping part of my day is spent being at work. I am… Let’s say I’m an accountant. That’s not really what I do but it’s the only thing that I assume exists in this world as well.”

“And when you don’t work?”

“I like to read or do anything, um, artistic? I recently tried to learn how to draw. Properly, I mean.”

“Maybe I should have you paint my portrait to see how that compares with the other one,” Geralt mused.

“Draw me like one of your French girls.” She smiled to herself.

“What?”

“That’s for another time.”

It frustrated Geralt greatly when she did not explain these things to him. He tried something easier.

“Who do you spend your time with?”

“Besides my family just a few friends. There is nothing like coming together for a good meal. I miss that. Just going someplace, eating pizza and talking.” Her eyes lost focus for a moment when she silently repeated: “Pizza...”

Geralt was not satisfied yet. “Do you keep other company?”

Blue eyes looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean? There is a spider in my bathroom. I’m calling her Mildred. Shitty company though, just leaves her spiderwebs everywhere and isn’t very talkative.”

“I was thinking more of men, for example.” Kit’s behavior was confusing to Geralt. He was certain they were flirting every now and then, had a feeling she liked him, but nothing ever happened between them, not even accidental touches. He wondered whether his impression was false and she had no interest in him or if, maybe, there was someone in her life already. Or was this just the way women from her world acted?

Kit chuckled. “I’m not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean.” She pushed a small tomato over her plate. “But if we are already being nosy: What’s currently going on with your great romance?”

“What romance?” Geralt was confused. What did she know and how did she even know anything at all?

“Yennefer? It appears songs have been sung about the two of you.” She cocked her head. Neutral expression. “You know I’ve been reading in these books around here and, well, I assume you are familiar with their content,” she answered when his confused stare intensified.

Geralt cursed Dandelion in his thoughts. “That was a long time ago. Most of what you read about her and me,” he made a point of not saying ‘us’, “is from Dandelion, a poet who I happen to be friends with and who basically made a career out of my work and private life. If you knew him you’d agree that he greatly exaggerates always and everything. He creates something out of nothing. And most of the time that something is drama.”

Kit silently nodded. He was not sure whether or not he had managed to convince her.

On the last day of August, they rode to Beauclair to attend the wine festival. Kit, despite all protests, had become more comfortable on Roach. Geralt considered finding her her own horse but he had a feeling that this well-intended gift would be received about as well as a death threat. On top of that, he enjoyed being so close to her while they were both sitting on Roach’s back. For how openly she was flirting with him sometimes, they had very little physical contact. A fact that Geralt had been lamenting about internally ever since she had washed his hair. But she had bigger fish to fry, he reminded himself. And possibly believed he was already spoken for.

“Are we not going to pick up our, what was it, ‘appropriate attire’ from your tailor?” Kit asked when they crossed the bridge to the palace.

“Our things are already waiting for us in there.” Geralt nodded at the magnificent feat of architecture in front of them. The palace was made up of seemingly endless delicate towers, spanning several levels, connected by ornate arches that looked sophisticated and fragile. The light-colored brick reflected the sunlight so that the palace appeared to be shining.

“Being Anna Henrietta’s guard means we get to spend the night in the palace.” He dismounted Roach and offered his hands to Kit to help her as well. “Now you finally get the chance to see it. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Kit’s face lightened up. “This is very exciting! But also quite generous of her considering you don’t live that far away.”

Geralt shrugged. “The local vampires enjoy the blood of drunk people which can be a bit of a nuisance if you have a hole congregation of these drunk snacks. It’s safer this way.”

Geralt had picked up the concept of ‘snacks’ from Kit and liked it a lot. Just a few days ago she had made her current favorite, exploding corn, for them. Kit, Madleine the cook, and Geralt had been standing in the kitchen where Kit had placed a pot with a little oil on the stove and then added some dried corn. Kit had said it would have been more fun had the pot had a glass lid which Madleine had called a silly idea. That was until the first kernel had exploded with an audible ‘pop’ and jumped out of the pot, missing Madleine by just a bit. She had let out a shocked scream that had made Kit giggle before she placed a lid onto the pot. After that a few minutes of muted popping sounds had followed and in the end the pot had been full of little white things, that looked nothing like corn. But it turned out that once they were covered with sugar and salt, they tasted rather interesting.

“Do you blow up all your food where you come from?” Geralt asked Kit, eyeing the curiously shaped corn.

“You talk about vampires as if they are no more annoying than mosquitoes,” Kit interrupted his thoughts while she stared at him incredulously.

“Well, vampires are easier to swat if they come too close.” A half-smile spread across Geralt’s face when he saw how Kit shook her head in disbelief.

“If that’s not a positive attitude towards things, then I don’t know what is,” she mumbled.

After their arrival had been announced, a valet came to pick them up and showed them to their room.

“This is gorgeous!” Kit exclaimed while turning her head in all directions. Geralt was less impressed since he was familiar with the palace. But even he could appreciate the luxurious high ceilings and the double winged doors that led to a small balcony which overlooked the city. The view was rather spectacular.

The room contained a large four-poster bed and a big tub that would be filled at his command. Plush carpets, tasteful furniture and thick curtains gave the room a feeling of coziness. A floor-length mirror catered to the vanity of the occupant.

Geralt sat down on a chaise lounge next to the bed to massage his leg and knee.

“Are you okay?” Kit tried to sound unbothered but he could hear a little worry in her voice.  
“Yes, but it’s going to rain. I have this old injury which is fairly reliable when it comes to predicting weather changes.”

“Huh.” Geralt followed Kit’s gaze to the balcony. “There is not one cloud in the sky. Are you sure your knee got the weather report right?”

“You’ll see.” His knee was always right.

In the afternoon they got ready for the festival. A lady’s maid, wearing a burgundy apron and gloves over her white garments, the typical Toussaint festival attire of the servants, was called to help Kit with her dress. Kit cursed about the absence of something called ‘zippers’ while Adelaide, the maid, helped her to fasten the laces at the back of the dress. “Seriously though, with a zipper this would have taken five seconds and I wouldn’t have needed any help.”

When she finally showed herself, Geralt stared at her and did not even bother to hide it. Her strapless dress revealed a beautiful long neck that practically begged to be kissed, as well as a pair of delicate shoulders. The dark red of the dress contrasted beautifully with her rosy pale skin. While he understood nothing when it came to fashion, he could tell that the simple dress, no ruffles, no pearls, no embroidery of any sort, was perfect for her. When she took a few steps towards Geralt, he saw how the fabric of the skirt flared out and moved so very differently from the heavy dresses that were usually worn in Toussaint. He took her hand and slowly spun her around. The bodice wrapped itself around her small waist just like it should and below that the skirt, probably made from silk he thought, unfolded its magic. A thin scarf from the same material was slung around her neck and fell down her back.

“You look ravishing,” he complemented her earnestly.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she replied while she picked at his tunic to straighten it out in all the right places, smiling and blushing.

“Next to you I feel even sillier than I usually do.” He tugged at the collar of his tunic.

“Believe me, you don’t. The problem is, that these clothes are made for weak men to hide behind and make them look dignified. But you are not weak. This is just not a good fit for muscular men. But,” she smiled encouragingly, “you’ll still be the best looking one out there.”

Before Geralt could reply, she had moved towards the door, the skirt of her dress billowing out. “Are you coming? Or do I have to find my way through this labyrinth alone?”

She is killing me, he thought.

They made their way to an internal courtyard where the festivities would commence. The high walls, covered by ivy, protected them from any undesired onlookers. A buffet had been set up and cups of wine were handed out while musicians played in the background. Everything was decorated with vast, colorful flower arrangements, flags, banners and garlands. At one end of the yard a stage had been set up. It was empty besides a low wooden tub.

More and more people flooded in, the murmur continually grew louder. Nobody took any particular notice of them, safe for a few people who whispered about the White Wolf.

At the sound of the fanfare all guests went silent immediately.

The festival started with the same ceremony every year during which Anna Henrietta herself was lifted into a wooden tub and started pressing the first grapes of the season with her feet. Geralt, who had seen this ceremony times and times again, could not be bothered and instead looked around, pretending to search for threats that were not there, while Kit mouthed her disappointment.

“I thought the Duchess was going to wear something regal and fancy. But it’s just a white dress. More of a nightgown actually,” she commented while pulling a face.

“Don’t worry,” Geralt assured her, “she will change afterwards and you’ll get to see her – heavy dress, crown and all.”

After an appropriate amount of grape tormenting had been committed, a handsome young lad lifted the Duchess out of the tub. The crowd dispersed, only a few stayed behind after Anna Henrietta had left.

“I don’t know what I expected. But that wasn’t it.”

“Don’t be so hasty, it has barely begun.” Geralt grabbed a cup of wine. “The real fun starts in the evening in the gardens.”

“If you say so,” Kit replied with her mouth full of hors-d’oeuvres. Geralt smiled.

“What?” she asked holding a hand in front of her mouth.

“Leave some space for the real food.”

“There will be more?” Kit’s eyes shone and Geralt, for once, laughed out loud. For all the problems she brought with her, he found her to be quite refreshing sometimes. She was the living embodiment of the table manners that Geralt himself was severely lacking in and that Yennefer had always scolded him for. High society all of a sudden seemed to be much more agreeable to him.

Geralt showed Kit around the palace, as far as he was allowed.

“It is so strange to see a place like this full of life. In my world you can visit old castles and palaces but nobody is actually living there anymore. And you can’t move freely - there are pathways you have to stick to and you can’t touch anything. Sometimes not even the floor.”

“Why?” Geralt found it hard to imagine that a building as rich and splendid as this would not have anybody living in it.

“Well, to preserve everything for future generations. So they can have a glimpse into the past, too. You usually have to pay an entrance fee as well. The money is used for the upkeep of the building. If nobody cared for them, they would all fall apart pretty quickly.” Geralt thought of all the old elven-ruins and concluded that what they did in Kit’s world, was a pretty smart thing. Or it would be, if elves were less hated and people actually cared about their heritage.

The sun was already starting to set when they went out into the gardens. It was still warm but unlike all those days before, a noticeable breeze was stirring the air. The light fabric of Kit’s dress danced around her and drew quite a few glances from other festival visitors. Some of Geralt’s acquaintances chatted them up, amongst them Guillaume de Launfal.

“Geralt, old friend!” he exclaimed and greeted him with a hug. “What a pleasure it is to see you.”

“Guillaume, it has been a while. Still not growing feathers I hope?”

Guillaume laughed heartily. “Feather free and still in love! My Vivienne and I could not be happier. I will always be grateful to you for that. We even have another egg on the way, so to speak. But I see you sought companionship for yourself. The fair lady in that peculiar red dress that everyone is talking about.” Geralt glanced over to a bench that Kit had excused herself to, to sit down for a while, when Geralt had offered to get them some drinks. Two women, most certainly ladies of Anna Henrietta’s court, had approached her.

“Will we be seeing her more often in the future?” the knight-errand asked.

“Mh,” Geralt responded.

When he returned to Kit she was surrounded by a flock of women. The conversation immediately died down when the witcher approached and the group dispersed giggling. A perky brunette winked at him.

He raised an eyebrow. “What was that about?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know.” A telltale blush spread across her cheeks.

“Actually, I do.” He sat down next to her, adjusting his posture so that he faced her, once again wondering what was going on in her mind. He handed her a cup of wine that she took a sip from before she started talking.

“Uh… They were mostly asking about the dress. Where I’m from and if people there always dress like this.”

“And…?” Geralt could tell there was more.

“They were asking about, how can I put this politely? Our… relation?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “They asked whether or not we fuck, didn’t they?”

“Precisely that.” Kit sighted, playing with the fabric of her dress to avoid looking Geralt in the eyes. “People here have no boundaries.”

“The concept of personal boundaries is reserved for humans, mutants don’t get to enjoy that privilege,” Geralt rumbled. “Saving lives is not enough to be awarded basic dignity.” He sighted, trying his best to push down his anger. “What did you tell them anyway?”

“Just that I am a visitor, nothing more.”

Geralt looked very unhappy.

“What? Was I supposed to say something else? If so, you need to give me a heads-up next time.”

“No, of course not.”

“But?”

Geralt moved his shoulders to ease the tension that built up whenever he wore something uncomfortable.

“You said it yourself, that people stare at me all the time. But you haven’t seen the way some women like to holler at me, thinking I’m eager to share their bed. At some point rumors started spreading about my…” He went quiet and scratched his head, not sure how to present the ongoing discussion people had about his sexual prowess and the shape, form and general function of his genitals in an acceptable way. He just vaguely pointed at the middle of his body. Luckily, Kit seemed to understand what was going on as her eyes widened in shock.

“Ah, shit. You are being sexually harassed and I just announced that you are fair game,” she concluded. Geralt leant back against the bench and stared at the sky.

“I’m so sorry, I swear, I had no idea that was even a thing here.” She crouched, her hands folded over her mouth.

“It gets worse when they are drunk. So much worse. Last time a woman threw herself at me but I can’t just deny her like any normal man, can I? I use too much force and then it’ll be: The witcher hurt her, assaulted her! And if it’s my word against hers – guess who they’ll believe? I’ve never had a real home but I made one here. I don’t want to risk losing it or my head for that matter.”

Kit looked horrified. “I’m so sorry, I wish I had known. I just assumed it was all fun and games and, most of all, consensual.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s not your responsibility to look after me. But I was hoping that, coming here with you, people would make assumptions and leave us alone. Just so that I get to have an evening where I don’t have to tiptoe around everybody so much. It’s exhausting.”

For a moment Kit seemed to be deep in thoughts. “So, you think they would have bought the idea of us as, I don’t know, a couple?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” he wondered.

“Being as popular as you are, I just figured you’d chose someone special, someone sophisticated or beautiful or whatever, and not someone like me.” She quickly mumbled the last part of the sentence and shrugged her shoulders.

“You think you are not beautiful?” Geralt was surprised by this revelation since he had long decided that she was so much more interesting than any other woman.

“In my personal opinion I’m perfectly fine. But, as a rule of thumb, people don’t necessarily share my opinion. I was not exactly popular with men in my world, so that probably says it all.”

Geralt nodded. “Yes, indeed. It says a lot about what fools these men are.” She looked at him, surprise displayed on her face. Geralt had often cursed his enhanced vision as it made it so much easier to spot the aesthetic flaws of others. Her face was not quite symmetrical and a little angular, the upper lip too thin to match the lower one and her nose was a little crooked. But the eyes, hidden under naturally thick and black lashes, drew him in, always. Long legs, exquisitely thin ankles that seemed far too fragile, and a beautiful smile – there was so much beauty there. In fact, under normal circumstances, he was certain she would never even have taken notice of him. While it was true that he was admired, it was not for his persona. The witcher had become a sexual fetish; none of the women were interested in more than one night with him. He was merely a thing to be used once and discarded afterwards.

“And besides, I value you for more than your looks. You are smart and kind and that is not something that I can say about most people here.” His voice sounded a little rougher to him than it usually did. Kit stared at him while he could hear that her heart had started to beat wildly. He wondered if he had said too much when she did not respond.

“Geralt, that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she finally replied, eyes a little watery. “I honestly can’t quite believe that you actually mean that.” She shuddered a little. “But if you do, and if you want to… You are in luck. We can still make this work, way past just _assumptions_.” She got up and waited for him to take her hand. She seemed to be a whole different person all of a sudden, radiating more confidence than ever before.

“Do you trust me?” she asked a visibly confused witcher.

“Is this going to be one of those instances where I say yes and then you do something that you are not qualified to do and warn me about it only when we’re right in the middle of it?”

“Oh no, I’m so very qualified this time. But it’s all depending on you. You have to convince them, I can only guide you.”

“Okay then…,” he agreed hesitantly, still not sure what he was expected to do.

Smiling, she announced for everybody in the vicinity to hear: “My love, dance with me!” Much quieter she instructed him: “Just play along.”

“What?” Geralt had not quite comprehended, when she tugged at this arm to get up. “I’m not a dancer,” he protested when Kit hooked her arm to his and guided him to a lower terrace where musicians were playing and several people were dancing already. A pleasant feeling started to spread throughout his body nevertheless.

“Neither am I, even though I have seen you dance and it was rather impressive. But we will do it like we do in my world – which is to say no real dancing. And for the purpose we want to achieve, that will be enough.”

Geralt was even more confused. “Whenever did you see me dance?”

“Well, I assume you’d call it fighting but the way you did it, it really was just dancing with a sword. I admit it would have looked better if you hadn’t chosen a ghoul as your dancing partner.”

“Not sure if you recall but that decision wasn’t up to me.”

Kit placed them right in the middle between the other couples, so everybody would see them. Geralt felt rather uneasy.

“Now,” she whispered while she took his hands and guided them, in slow and deliberate movements, onto her lower back, much lower than appropriate, “you keep your hands on my body, make sure it’s not too PG-13, don’t have them rest too high up. And look me in the eyes.” Her hands felt their way over his chest, carefully, slowly, not breaking their eye contact, before they came to a rest behind his neck, causing the familiar prickling feeling on his skin. “And now just sway,” she ordered silently, only for him to hear, while she nestled her body against his.

Geralt was lost for words. Was he finally getting what he wanted? The feeling of her hands in his neck, of her body against his, thrilled him.

They swayed and swayed, Kit nuzzled her face to his throat, kept one hand at the back of his neck while she rested the other one on his firm chest. Geralt felt his knees give in ever so slightly whenever her lips brushed against the sensitive skin of this throat, sending waves of heat through his body.

At some point the musicians had even started to accommodate their slow movements. Geralt relished the warmth Kit emanated, pressed his face closer to her head so he could feel her, absorb her smell. One of her hands had started to move on his chest, exploring freely. Among the chaste, distant dancing of the others, this felt nearly obscene.

“Is dancing in your world always so… physical?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“You have no idea. There are forms of dancing that, if we did this here, I think some people would end up with heart attacks.”

“You’ll have to show me at some point, I can handle a heart attack.”

“Maybe… sometime,” she chuckled.

Geralt took a cue from Kit and moved one hand up and down her back and sides while the other rested at her lower back in a way that was just barely still acceptable.

Eventually their song came to an end. Kit whispered, her lips pressed to Geralt’s ear: “It’s up to you now. Do it if you want to, or just take my hand and lead me away like that’s been your plan all along. Whatever you do, do it with determination. You have to convince your audience.” She moved a small step away from him, her hands still resting on his chest, and looked at him expectantly.

The environment around Geralt went dull, his heightened senses failed him. The talk and the music barely reached his ears anymore. Whether it was freezing cold or scorching hot – he would not have been able to tell in that very moment. He was not sure for how long he gazed into these deep blue eyes, before he finally lowered himself to kiss her. And he did it with determination. Because he liked to listen to good advice.

Soft lips opened up to him, warmth flooded his entire body. If it had been able to, his heart would have beaten out of his chest. He pulled her as close as he possibly could, held her as tight as he would dare while his body, pressed against hers, seemingly dissolved in her arms. Her hands enclosed his face as if she wanted to pull him even closer. He could feel himself tremble ever so slightly, the sensation of her touches nearly overwhelming him.

When Kit finally withdrew, he could not tell how long it had been. With blushed cheeks she looked at him before she whispered: “That was very… convincing. Now, take my hand, only look at me and then let’s leave.”

Geralt listened and followed her orders to the point as his own brain was not yet ready to operate again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Checking the boxes on nearly all the romance movie tropes!


	9. The one with the confused pufferfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More romance stuff.

In silence they followed a path that was illuminated by torches. Eventually they reached the shore of a lake. Numerous boats were bobbing peacefully on its surface, the soft glow of their lanterns reflecting on the water.

“I think we were successful,” Kit stated matter-of-factly once they were out of earshot. She let go of Geralt’s hand and spun around herself. “What do you think?” She stopped and grinned at him.

What he thought? He thought that he had just made the most wonderful experience in a long time and it could not end so soon.

Geralt cleared his throat. “I assume we were fairly convincing,” he started cautiously, “but I wouldn’t mind making sure the message reaches everybody.” He reached for her hand again and pulled her closer.

Kit smiled and nodded. “Maybe you are right. But have you seen the way they looked at us? If anyone gets jumped by a mad woman tonight it’s going to be me – and out of jealousy.”

Geralt nodded even though he had seen nothing. Nothing but her.

“You are very good at…” Kissing, he thought, “giving instructions,” he said.

“Well, watching all these romance movies was finally worth it.”

“Any more valuable lessons to be learned from them?”

“Only that every fake relationship will be exposed at the end. Let’s hope that I learned enough not to let it come this far.”

Geralt wanted to protest, surely his part in this was not at all insincere. But maybe hers was? For tonight, he thought, I don’t care. I will enjoy what I have.

He offered her his arm and together they strolled through the park, only occasionally stopping at one of the food stands. Kit insisted that they fed each other. “Nothing more annoying than a couple putting on such a stupid show.”

“Anything else?” Geralt, now an eager student of the arts of misleading people, asked when she pulled the cheese and grape from a little wooden skewer that he had held out for her.

“I’m calling this one the messy eater: Here, try this.” She offered him a chicken drumstick that was covered in sauce, from which he obediently took a bite. “Oh darling, you’ve got something in your face,” she exclaimed louder than necessary. “Let me take care of this.” With one hand on his chin, she turned his face to the side, while she kissed the corner of his mouth to remove the sauce that had inevitably landed there. The witcher hummed satisfied when he felt the soft touch of her lips and thought of ways to eat even messier.

“The key is to create as many unnecessary and over the top interactions as possible. Force everybody to look at you, even those who couldn’t care less.”

“I had no idea you were such a strategist,” he remarked with amusement in his voice.

They walked in circles around the gardens, eventually sitting down on a bench. Geralt pulled Kit onto his lap before she could even try to sit down on the bench.

“I see, you’re getting the hang of it.” She smiled approvingly and draped her arms around his neck.

“I have a good teacher,” he acknowledged. “I hope you are enjoying yourself despite this?”

“Despite? Don’t be silly. All of this is wonderful. I don’t understand how you prefer being covered in blood and monster intestines to this!” She seemed to be genuinely happy and Geralt was glad to see it.

“Usually I don’t have such good company,” he whispered while a few people passed them, shooting them curious glances.

“It’s okay, I am willing to sacrifice myself should more events like this come up,” she proclaimed theatrically. “But I need to come up with another pet name. I hate ‘darling’, it’s awful and bland.”

He shook his head in disbelief as he could not possibly care any less about what she called him.

Geralt had started to notice that people did in fact watch: How she lovingly pushed some stray hairs behind his ear. How he placed a kiss on her neck. How he touched her in all the ways that she had shown him to signal that he did not care about anybody else. How they walked, hand in hand, until her feet hurt. How he carried her up the stairs and only had eyes for her, not wasting a single glance on his environment. Geralt was fairly sure that he would not have noticed had Detlaff sent his army again.

On one of the terraces they waited for midnight when the firework would begin. In the distance dark clouds were visible and Geralt heard thunder rolling.

“Your knee was right after all,” Kit noticed when the clouds began to move over their heads. The wind had picked up, making the skirt of her dress wave in a way that was hypnotizing.

A loud whizz announced the beginning of the fireworks. The crowd cheered.

“I love fireworks,” Kit remarked, her eyes glued to the sky. The dark clouds made the colorful sparks stand out even more. It was either them or the flashes of lightening, coming closer fast, that illuminated the sky.

Geralt rested his hands on her hips, shaped his body to hers. He did not care for the spectacle in the sky, he simply yearned for their bodies to be close. Kit placed her hands on his, moving them around her body so that she was held in a tight embrace. She just watched, not saying anything, not even when the first raindrops began to hit the ground.

All of a sudden, the previously steady breeze turned into violent gusts of wind. Kit’s scarf was picked up and they watched it fly away for a moment before they ran for shelter as a downpour suddenly set in. In just a few seconds both of them were completely drenched.

But they smiled and laughed.

“I think that’ll be the end of it,” Geralt mused while taking off one of his boots and poured some water out on the ground.

“It’s time to go to bed now anyway, my love,” she said loudly so all of the passing guests could hear her while adding under her breath, laughing: “God, I’m an awfully obnoxious fake girlfriend.”

Their naked feet were slapping on the tiled floors while Kit left a wet trace with her skirt.

By the time they reached their chambers, the city was engulfed in thunder and lightning. The ground vibrated and the lightening illuminated everything around them. Kit opened the doors to their balcony to watch the mesmerizing spectacle.

“I’m glad we are in here and not out there,” she said, rubbing her hands on her upper arms. The night air had become much chillier and the wet fabric clinging to her body cooled her down. Geralt put his arms around her but she started to shiver anyway.

“You need to get out of this dress,” he concluded.

“Absolutely,” she agreed with chattering teeth. Looking in the full-length mirror and spinning around her own axis, she realized that getting out of the dress was not going to be that easy. “Can you loosen up the laces in the back? I can’t do it myself.”

Geralt nodded and turned her, so she was facing the mirror while his hand glided down her spine until it reached the bottom of the dress where a ribbon held everything together. He fumbled a little until he was able to open it and then began to loosen the laces. Kit held her arms crossed over her chest to keep the dress from falling to the floor.

Geralt carefully caressed the skin on her back which was showing imprints of the fabric. For a moment goosebumps spread across her skin, just to disappear again a moment later.

“Do you mind giving me something to wear to bed?” she asked, nodding at the pile of ordered clothing that had come with the dress.

He wanted to suggest that she might just wear nothing at all but obediently fished out a nightgown for her anyway. Geralt handed her the flimsy piece of fabric while Kit looked at him expectantly. “Would you mind?” she asked again. Geralt turned around, very much unwillingly. He heard how the wet fabric dropped and folded itself on the floor.

Maybe he should get out of these wet things too, he thought, while opening the front of his tunic, ready to discard the unloved and uncomfortable piece of clothing.

He hesitated. “That was a wonderful evening. Thank you for that and for what you did for me.”

Kit smiled. “It was beautiful. I just realized that didn’t get to see the Duchess, but other than that I consider this evening absolutely perfect.”

Geralt hesitated but could not stop himself: “If your real kisses are only half as good as the pretend one I got tonight, you must have made a few men very happy.”

Kit blushed again. No matter how many times she did it, he would always find it endearing.

“What do you mean? It was a real kiss,” Kit suggested, looking at the witcher in confusion.

“I just assumed you would kiss someone you really like differently than someone you simply want to do a favor. In front of an audience.”

She shook her head. “I already told you, any sort of physicality is completely impossible for me if I don’t like the other person at least a little.” She sighted. “As for the audience…” She chuckled. “We are alone now, so if you really want to find out...” She said it jokingly, but Geralt did not care, he did not hesitate. He approached her, slowly, like a cat that was about to pounce on its next meal, giving her a last chance to turn away. His eyes were fixated on her, registering that she breathed a little heavier, hearing her heart beat speed up. He noticed that the goosebumps had returned and that parts of her were showing through the thin fabric of her nightgown in the most pleasant ways. With one last step he closed the distance between them and pulled her tight, one arm around her back, one hand on her cheek. He could feel her breath on his skin. The thought of her lips made him shudder.

It was her this time, who kissed him, reaching out for him on her toes. Her lips were warm and soft as they closed around his. Before, the feeling had overwhelmed him, but this time he was better prepared. He sucked gently until her lips parted and let him explore. His tongue found hers, ensnaring it into a game of catch, while tasting everything she had to offer.

However, when she ran her hand over his exposed chest, he moaned and lost all control again. What was it about her, he thought afterwards, that her touches had such an effect on him? Was it simply because he was not used to any kind of affection anymore? It should have been other way around, her moaning in pleasure while he turned her to wax in his hands. That was how it always had been with Geralt, the giver, who was so very concerned for the pleasure of his lovers. But he felt weak and powerless and not at all in control.

Kit bit his lip tenderly before she let go. They rested forehead against forehead, breathing heavily.

“I hope this answers your question,” she said sheepishly.

“I think I have a lot more questions that need to be answered this way,” he said. All of a sudden he could hear the storm again that had ceased to exist for the past minute.

Kit smiled shyly while turning away from him. She tip-toed to the bed and threw the blankets over her head and shoulders, settling in a way that she was able to watch the storm outside.

Geralt shook his head, wondering how this only seemed to affect him but not her. He finally rid himself of his wet garments and sat down next to her, demanding refuge in the blanket fortress she had created around herself.

When he woke up the next morning, the sun was shining brightly already. Last night’s fresh air had been replaced by Toussaint’s usual warmth. Geralt found that he had one arm wrapped around Kit and one leg pushed between hers which, miraculously and thankfully, for once did not remind him of the old wound despite the odd position it was in. Kit’s nightgown had wandered upwards, leaving her thighs uncovered. The blankets had disappeared, their current whereabouts unknown. Kit lay there, still and warm, breathing relaxed, not yet fully awake. How they ended up in this position, he did not know. He only remembered that they had gone to bed as two separate entities, blankets and all still present.

For a moment Geralt sensed that they were being watched. But he discarded the impression as silly, so high up in the palace’s towers.

He pressed a kiss on Kit’s naked shoulder and let his hand wander over her arm, relishing the feeling of her soft skin under the tips of his fingers. She stirred and turned around with her eyes still closed. She nuzzled into Geralt, her hands resting on his naked chest. Her body exuded a warmth that was beyond comforting, yet, at the same time he was filled with a nervous energy that made him feel invincible. The familiar tingle of his skin touching hers just added to the coziness.

When Kit woke up, she stretched in his arms not unlike a cat, and then looked at him in confusion when she realized where she was. Stretching yet again, she rolled to the side and nearly fell out of the bed. Geralt had grabbed her by the hip at the last moment.

“Did this bed shrink during the night?” she wondered, before she rolled onto her belly and fell asleep again.

After their ride home, spent in silence, Kit took her notebook and disappeared to her spot by the river. Geralt was left confused. It seemed that whenever they became a little closer she would withdraw from him immediately after. Maybe he had to accept that she was not interested in him the same way he was interested in her, he realized with disappointment.

_Dear reader,_

_I’ll keep doing this thing where I try to see all the good things about being here. Or at least the good in the bad. Please enjoy my ramblings:_

_I love camping. Except for the part where you usually have to walk at least halfway across the campgrounds to get to the bathrooms. I have fond memories of a road trip through the US, having been to campgrounds with signs warning you not to step on scorpions. Which, believe it or not, isn’t that easy if you have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night in total darkness with just a tiny flashlight to hold on to. On another occasion I actually had to wake up my then-boyfriend to come with me because I had been listening to the coyotes howling in the distance for a while and… Well. I guess I didn’t want to die alone? Seriously, it was scary. I had this image in my mind where they would find our mutilated bodies the next day: A cop arrives at the scene and asks for the cause of death. “Full bladder,” the coroner would answer._

_What does any of that have to do with my current situation? Have you ever had to deal with those glorified pee buckets that are chamber pots? I knew they used to be a thing. I assumed the whole matter would be somewhat disgusting and I was right. What wouldn’t I give to have to walk half a kilometer to the next toilet if there just was one… Now, what about this do I appreciate, you wonder? The fact that I don’t have to empty or clean said chamber pot. Someone does it, I don’t know who and I don’t want to know. But here it is: I appreciate that I don’t have to do that because I got lucky and was found by someone who could afford to pay people to deal with literal shit. In all honesty though, I can only imagine how much harder all of this would have been had I ended up in a place where life was less comfortable. Was this too tmi for you? Sorry. But then again you’re reading my diary, so what the hell did you expect?_

_All in all, I’ve got to say that I don’t miss sitting in front of a computer for 40 hours a week at work. I’m going as far as saying that, if it wasn’t for the constant pain I was feeling at the back of my mind over being away from my family and friends (and indoor-plumbing), I wouldn’t really miss the life that I left behind that much. Thanks to the current circumstances my hello fresh deliveries constituted the highlight of my week and that says a lot, don’t you think?_

_But here? Just take yesterday as an example: Geralt taught me how to sharpen swords. Now, he’s not an idiot, so I didn’t get to touch his swords. Not sure if he was more worried about me damaging them or they damaging me. But while the big man dealt with the big sharp things, I got to sharpen the small things - Marlene’s kitchen knives. She’s still talking to me so I guess I haven’t done a horrible job. It’s the change of scenery that I appreciate. For a while at least. Let’s see how long this honeymoon phase will last._

_Anyway, dear reader, let’s get back to the really good stuff, shall we?_

_I might possibly be trapped in a fairy tale. There is no princess here but a Duchess in a spectacular palace. No prince but a guy with a horse who, luckily, is so much more interesting than any prince could possibly be._

_When I return to my world, I need to turn this into a novel worthy of a cheesy Netflix rom-com adaption (Knight before Christmas, anyone?)._

_We went to the palace for the wine festival. I, in my dreamy dress, and by my side a maybe intimidating looking but intelligent and thoughtful man whose company I was envied for._

_Geralt introduced me to some of his acquaintances, all of them so polite and nice. I was squirming internally when they kissed my hand because my brain jumped back to all these hygiene rules before I remembered that in this world I was more likely to end up with the plague rather than a certain flu-like virus. Which is not making things any better now that I think about it..._

_Turns out, readjusting is difficult sometimes. After about a week I had stopped to freak out whenever I saw people huddled close together. Other habits were much harder to shake off. It’s been nearly three weeks now but I still find myself trying to grab my phone to google something or check my messages several times a day. During breakfast, I keep looking for the radio because I’m not used to not listening to the news and music. At one point I called out for Alexa to tell me what time it was. Geralt looked at me like I was nuts. When I explained the concept of Alexa to him that didn’t really change anything. He even checked if I had temperature._

_Right, but I was just supposed to believe in magic and monsters, huh? Remind me to tell him about the moon landing if I ever really need to mess with him._

_I noticed from the very beginning how he attracted the attention of most women around him. It is easy to understand why – if you look up ‘manliness’ on wikipedia you’ll probably find his picture there. The chiseled jaw, all these muscles with minus two percent bodyfat… I get it. No amount of scars can make him look unpleasant – at most a little menacing._

_What I find much harder to understand is how people here have no shame or reservations. I’m not saying I have never occasionally stared at someone who I perceived as beautiful, I have ovaries and hormones and am not above good looks. But not like they do it here. And it appears I have only seen half of it._

_I guess most women have dealt with some sort of sexual harassment in their life since most of us have made the experience that certain men will not accept a ‘no’ and will only back off once we pull the boyfriend card. Because a woman’s opinion is to be disregarded unless she is someone else’s property (hear me sigh in frustration). It would have never occurred to me that Geralt could fall victim to this because I automatically assumed it could never happen to men, never mind men as tall and strong as him. For god’s sake, he can fight off monsters! But when it comes to women, he’s powerless (if he was a Pokémon, he’d have a double weakness against them… and sometimes for them, I guess)._

_The festival was a nice break from the usual. New things to see, new people to meet. But the moment Geralt left to get us some drinks, I was surrounded by a gaggle of women. It started out innocently enough. They were asking me about my dress and I really do believe their interest and their compliments were genuine. The topic was changed quickly though. How was the sex? How many times does he satisfy me every day? Were the (mostly dick-related) rumors true?_

_Here is a short list of the rumors, in case you were wondering:_

  * _He has two_
  * _It is/they are about the same size as that of a horse_
  * _It glows/they glow in the dark_
  * _It has/they have hooks (just… why?)_
  * _He has unlimited stamina_



_I have rarely ever felt so uncomfortable. I was about to tell them what I thought of their behavior when Geralt returned and the problem solved itself. Or should I say relocated itself? I’m sure they kept talking about him, just out of earshot._

_Good looks and rumors aside, they don’t even know what they are missing out on. He is kind, empathetic and charming – even though he has no reason to be any of these things. And that’s not just my uterus talking. I’ve spent some time with the people who work for him and they hold him in high regards. Most of them have truly fantastic and heartwarming stories to tell about Geralt. Those who have been with him ever since he took over the property told me that, initially, they were scared of him. Geralt was right after all, people do fear or even hate witchers to a certain degree. He had to earn their trust, treated them much better than other vineyard owners did, helped them out with personal issues. And then there was Cora. She’s a little younger than me and a mother of two. She told me the story of how she insisted on helping with the harvest even when she was very pregnant with her second child because she felt she owed Geralt for bailing out her husband when he had gotten in with the wrong crowd some time before. Geralt had told her time and again that she should stay home and that it was okay to do so. But no, Cora insisted. Dear reader, can you guess what happened? Rhetorical question, I know you can. The labor pains started right when she was in the middle of work, somewhere far out in a field. Geralt happened to be close by – not that it would have been necessary. With his hearing he would have picked up on her screams from far away. Cora laughed when she told me this. She was squatting and pushing since there was no time to be lost (fast-birthing hips, she said), screaming at Geralt, who was only qualified to deal with a completely different type of situation that involved bleeding and screaming. But he was the one to catch baby Etienne the moment he evacuated his mother’s body. So, there they were: Cora, collapsed. Etienne, covered in blood and mucus, screaming his little head off. And Geralt, the involuntary midwife, suddenly holding a baby and having no idea what to do with it. That was five years ago and I’m happy to report they all made it out psychologically unscathed. I’ve seen Etienne occasionally jump around the stables or run up to Geralt to hug his leg and then run off again. Guess they had a bonding moment back in that field._

_Knowing how much he cared about the people in his life, it broke my heart when he told me about his situation, about his very specific type of mistreatment, especially after I had just gotten a taste of it._

_I consider myself to be of average attractiveness (say, a seven on a good hair day), so I never had to deal with harassment to this degree but I am familiar with it. Which means I did understand what an evening without being bothered would have meant to him, particularly after having learned what people occupy themselves with in their thoughts._

_But my witcher was in luck as for once I possessed exactly what was needed to fight his monsters. I graduated from the school of fake movie romances for societal purposes with summa cum laude._ _Being the undervalued genius that I am, I suggested what I had seen happening in movies all the time – because this is pretty much a fairytale so it had to work, right?_

_Dear reader, you must know I am rather shy since I have experienced my fair share of rejection. Therefore, I have no idea where I took the courage from to even suggest he should pretend that we are an item. The idea, that someone like him would want to be with someone like me in a romantic context, seemed so outlandish even after his kind words. After all, I’m not special, not a sorceress with enhanced beauty (which, according to what I had read and heard, seemed to be the necessary bare minimum requirement to be desirable to him)._

_But as it turned out I am not immune to flattery and my self-confidence inflated like a confused pufferfish. I also had some wine – still don’t like it but for that evening alcohol was what I needed. So I decided to do it spinal tap style (the band, not the medical procedure) and turn it up to 11._

_We played an act, pretended to be a couple. It felt a little strange at the beginning but I had the impression that we both slipped into our roles effortlessly. I assume it only went this well because we had gotten so familiar with each other and there was a certain trust between us. It might have been a whole lot less compelling otherwise. I don’t remember the last time I had this much fun._

_I’m not sure how many people we actually convinced but when he kissed me… Well, I was convinced (which, you know, shouldn’t be a thing since I was in on the act). I have never, in my entire life, felt so wanted. There I was, back in those strong arms. The way he held me, kissed me, was all I needed in life. The way his beard scratched my skin felt divine – I wanted to never let go._

_But when I did, to preserve a shred of dignity and try to pretend that I was not completely done for, it took me all the effort I could muster._

_I was afraid that he had seen right through me then, knew that I was just like all the others, wanted him like all the others, and that he would try to get rid of me too. Because I just am that kind of stupid. To want the man who just told me, literally just told me, he only wanted to be left alone. But miraculously, he did not tell me to get the hell out. Perhaps he didn’t see it and I’m a better actress than I give myself credit for or maybe he just didn’t mind for this one evening, maybe it was the wine – I don’t know._

_Much later, when we were alone, he seemed to even ask for another kiss. Which, of course, I provided happily despite my fear of this being the end. But, maybe because I was intoxicated by that beautiful evening, there was that minimum amount of courage that I needed. Wanting to feel him again did the rest. It was even me who kissed him – that is just how much I wanted this. For how cautious and soft he was with me on any other occasion, his kisses were rough, unapologetic and untamed. And I loved it._

_And now? I want more, so much more._

_So congratulations me, for falling for someone who is from an entirely different world and time period and who is also several times my age. Can’t see how that could possibly go south._

_I can’t stop thinking about the way he touched me when he removed my dress - I get hot and cold just writing this down. If he ever touches me like this again I might not be able to pretend anything anymore. I might just beg him to rip off my clothes and proceed as usual. And then write that down too because something tells me that this would be the type of memory that needs to be cherished._

_That would probably be our last interaction though, because if he realizes that I am just like all the others… he will kick me out, I am certain, and I can’t even be mad at him._

_I hardly slept that night, as I always do the first night in a new place. Geralt and I were huddled into our blankets but he seemed to find the storm, which had abruptly ended the festivities, much less thrilling than I did and seemed to doze off every now and then. So I put him to bed and traveled the long way to the other side of the ridiculously large bed. I was wondering if I should have made a fuss at some point about not wanting to share the bed with him, you know, pretend to be a decent young woman etc. But it seemed ridiculous not only considering the size of the bed but also the fact that Geralt and I had become so close over the past few weeks. With all that crazy mumbo-jumbo going on, distancing myself from someone who made me feel welcome and cared for was about the last thing I wanted._

_Anyway, imagine my surprise when, after a few hours, I noticed that Geralt had rolled all the way over to me in his sleep, looking like a messy sushi roll with one leg and one arm sticking out of his blanket. I dozed off for a short while and when I woke up again, he had cuddled up against me. And there I was, back in the exact place I wanted to be. I gave up on trying to sleep and just enjoyed feeling him against me. Sleep was not going to deprive me from that experience for even a minute._

_Except when it did, long after the sun had risen. I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up again I had practically buried my face in his naked chest. And his arms? Still there, still holding me tight, not rejecting me for whatever reason. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Did we maybe just extend our little charade until we were to leave the palace? I think he said something to me, but I don’t remember because I quickly fell asleep again._

_Now that I think about it, maybe this didn’t even happen and I was just dreaming? After all, there is a whole lot of wishful thinking involved in this._

_I noticed one thing though, dear reader. That feeling I described earlier, the sock that was slipping off my foot… or brain? That feeling was gone. All of a sudden, after that stormy night, I felt like I had been properly rooted in this strange new world. I wonder if there is any meaning to it or if this is just what happens if you spent a sleepless night in the arms of someone you desire._

_Feel free to discuss._

_Two problems remain:_

_1) I might have promised Geralt to show him what twerking is. Sadly, while my hips don’t lie my mouth certainly did because I can’t twerk for the life of me._

_2) Jokes aside, something is happening again. I noticed it this morning and it’s so strange that I don’t even want to write it down yet. Because, whatever the reason for it may be, it’s not good. I’ve been doing nothing other than rummaging through my brain, trying to make out a cause, having no capacity to process anything else. It is scary and I have a sense that something else is heavily implied in it. But I don’t want to write it down, I don’t want to challenge fate or whatever and make it final by putting it into words. Not yet anyway. Let’s just hope it’ll clear up on its own._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shamelessly taking inspiration from some Geralt/Shani-interaction in hearts of stone.


	10. The one with the starfish that needed its face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor is arriving.

Kit sat in the shade next to an archway at Corvo Bianco and worked on her reed baskets. Sir Pounce was rolling in the dirt next to her.

A large sunhat protected her uncovered shoulders from the afternoon sun. She was wearing a bandeau top and a long, high-waisted skirt made from linen. People looked at her somewhat strangely when they walked by but most of them were too busy to actually question the practicability of her outfit. In her short stay in Toussaint Kit had talked to and introduced herself to most of the people working at Geralt’s vineyard. To them she was just an exotic, far-travelled stranger, whose looks and behavior were not questioned anymore.

She did however immediately catch the eye of a newly arrived visitor. His colorful, richly embroidered doublet with a matching hat he was wearing made it obvious that he was not from around the area.

“Good day to you, fair maiden! You must be new, I don’t think we ever met,” the stranger announced himself with a slight bow.

Kit raised her gaze. “Hi there! Only got here a few weeks ago, so you’re right.” She smiled politely and then looked down again to the basket that she was working on.

The stranger was mildly annoyed as he failed to grasp the woman’s attention and decided on another approach.

“Let me admire your unblemished beauty and write a song about you. Skin as white as milk, hair the color of straw and that beautiful, beautiful neck!” he exclaimed while sitting down next to her and reached out for her. Sir Pounce, startled by the sudden movement of the man, jumped and looked at him curiously from a few steps away.

“Thanks, but that’s really not necessary.” Kit skidded to the side to avoid the touch.

“Are we playing hard to get? You should know that I enjoy a challenge.” The man grinned suggestively.

Abruptly, Kit stood up. “And I enjoy boundaries – seems like both of us will remain unhappy today.” And then she just marched off.

“Do you not know who I am?” the man called, his voice somewhere between shock and affront.

“Not interested!” Kit called and waived without turning around, quickly marching for the greenhouses where she would probably find Rita and where the obnoxious stranger hopefully would not dare to follow her.

The man, pouting, headed straight for the main building. Without knocking he opened the door and announced himself loudly: “Geralt, where are you? Your best friend has come to visit!”

Geralt stuck his head out of the bedroom. “Dandelion, as always unexpected!” He greeted his friend with a hug. “What brings you here? Your desire to be made a head shorter by the Duchess?”

“Do not despair, my friend!” Dandelion exclaimed dramatically. “All is well between Her Highness and me. I wrote her a letter and the little weasel could not resist my charms. It is a testament to her good taste and intelligence that she did so.” Geralt only hummed, refraining from giving his friend a piece of his mind. “Unlike that wench out there. She must be utterly insane. I, the renowned poet Dandelion, offered to create a lyrical testament to her beauty. Something others have begged me to do. But she… oh, do you know what she did? She rejected me! Me!” the poet complained, his face assuming a light shade of red.

“Which poor girl did you scare away now?” Geralt critically lifted an eyebrow.

Dandelion shrugged his shoulders and then sat down, putting his feet on the table. “I have never seen her here before. I assume you hired her recently? Big straw hat, braiding baskets or something? You should let her go, she clearly is not of a sound mind.” Geralt chuckled and liked the idea that Kit had rejected Dandelion very much. This was clearly proof of a perfectly fine working mind.

“Ts, what an unappreciative creature! Shall some other unlucky bastard claim her!” Dandelion spat. Geralt knew all too well that his friend was horrible at facing rejection. Still, he needed to remind himself of that in order to restrain himself from slapping Dandelion through the wall.

“Are you done venting?” Geralt asked stone-faced.

Dandelion nodded. “So, anyway, can I stay in the guestroom for a few nights?” he asked nonchalantly, his bad mood blown away.

Geralt shook his head. “I don’t know about that, the room is already…” But Dandelion did not let him finish.

“Then I will just share your bed, like we’ve done countless times back in the day.” Before Geralt could even think about how he would much rather like his bed to be shared with someone else, Kit entered. She carried a small basket filled with herbs from the greenhouses.

“Geralt, I have got the things you wanted. Also, something strange just happened. There was a weird…” She broke off mid-sentence when her eyes caught Dandelion. “Never mind.”

Geralt cleared his throat, finding the situation awfully funny.

“Dandelion, meet Kit. Kit, this is the poet I’ve told you about. He’ll stay with us for a few days.”

“Lovely.” Kit smiled through gritted teeth.

Dandelion shot Geralt a telling glance and wrinkled his nose.

“Well, I have things to do. I’ll leave the two of you alone.” Kit put the basket on a nearby dresser and left.

In his mind Geralt saw an ever-growing stack of crooked reed baskets that was threatening to take over the whole vineyard. Weaving baskets was not something she was good at. He dreaded the day when he would have to tell her in order to avoid having to deal with their increasing numbers.

Dandelion was about to say something but Geralt cut in: “Not another word about her. You become awfully boring when you whine. Instead, tell me why you’re here.” For a moment it seemed like the bard wanted to protest before he thought better of it.

“My presence has been requested at the wedding of Erasmus Morel. Have you ever heard of him?”

“Yes, he’s a well-known trader. Usually spends the summers at his estate not far from here.”

“Well, this summer it’s him and his betrothed who, as I was told, is an admirer of my art. They pay handsomely. But, anyway, since I was in the area I thought I should come by. It’s about time we visit a tavern, get drunk and make a few ladies very happy. Just like back in the day. What do you say? And, just so you know, I will not accept ‘no’ for an answer.”

And so they went. They only returned in the middle of the night. Dandelion very drunk, Geralt very annoyed. In his usual manner Dandelion had attracted everybody’s attention by playing a few of his tunes and then started to flirt heavily with a young woman who was very much taken in by his advances – unlike her husband. The situation caused a brawl, furniture was broken and everybody was unceremoniously kicked out of the tavern. Dandelion, as drunk as any human could possibly be, relied heavily on Geralt’s shoulder because he was not able to walk on his own anymore. Geralt mentally prepared for the laments that he would have to endure the next morning as soon as Dandelion discovered his black eye and split lip.

The bard fell onto the bed like a bag of potatoes and started snoring immediately. Geralt tried to sleep next to him, in the small corner of the bed that was not occupied by the starfish formerly known as Dandelion. But thanks to the heavy snoring of well-trained vocal cords, sleep would not come for him.

Annoyed Geralt got up with the intention to grab some leftovers from the kitchen when he noticed that Kit was sneaking around the bookshelf in the dining room, apparently looking for something that intrigued her.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

“I did. But you guys woke me up,” she stated matter-of-factly. There was no accusation in her voice, just weariness.

“He won’t let me sleep either. His snoring is out of this world.” Geralt slumped into a chair, exhausted.

Kit sat down next to him, propping up her head with one hand, eyes half closed.

“I figured he was kind of a nuisance,” she mumbled.

Geralt smiled. “He told me about your encounter.”

“This man has no boundaries. None.” Kit yawned.

“Don’t want to defend him, but he’s used to being known by everyone and adored by every woman. His perception of reality is a little warped. But I’m sure you gave him a piece of your mind.”

Kit rolled her eyes. “Not so much. I just ran away. I mean, I was fairly convinced that he was some sort of psychopath. I might have had a few choice words for him had I not been so startled – I really don’t like to be touched by strangers. People here just act so weird sometimes, I’m still getting used to that.”

“If that’s any consolation: You damaged his pride.” Geralt raised one corner of his mouth into a half-smile.

“Really? By walking away? That’s some fragile ego.” She paused. “He is very unlike you. May I ask how comes you’re friends with him?”

Geralt thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “We’ve been friends for so many years now. He’s a prick but he also has a heart of gold. I know, it sounds strange but he’ll always show up when you need him. And I guess… sometimes it’s just nice to surround yourself with happier people.”

Kit nodded but her face continued to show doubt. “I get that. Though the price seems to be a bit high.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. “Tell me about your friends.”

For a moment an all-encompassing sadness seemed to surround Kit before she smiled it away. “They’re chaos personified. Most of my friendships thrive off inside-jokes that are over a decade old. If I didn’t get to see any of them for a year or two it wouldn’t matter one bit. Because I know for a fact that, whenever I’d meet them next, it’ll be as if no time has passed at all. Some things just never change. Whenever I’m sad my best friend is baking an apple pie for me.” She sighted and stared into the emptiness dreamily. “No matter what happens, I feel like they will always be there.”

Geralt wondered who these people might be. Were they as unpredictable as she was? Her entire world was still an enigma to him.

“What about your friends? Will I get to meet more than that snoring lunatic?” Kit asked, nodding in the direction of the bedroom.

The witcher tried to think of his friends but felt like he had no friendships of his own to compare to besides Dandelion. The other witchers were more like brothers to him and other than them, hardly any people in his life stuck around. He could not imagine Regis baking him a pie regardless of the occasion, even less so Zoltan.

“I wonder what they would make of you…” he thought aloud.

“What do you mean?”

“You are hard to grasp. I can’t predict you. I wonder if they could.”

“I’m not the weather, I’m not supposed to be predicted,” she laughed. “And if I’m so confusing to you, then just ask me whatever is bothering you.” Geralt could think of a lot of things he would like to ask her. The ones concerning her thoughts about him kissing her being by far the most chaste of them all.

Suddenly Dandelion snored into the silence again. “Boy, he’s loud,” Kit exclaimed, pulling Geralt out of his thoughts. “Isn’t this torture to your ears?”

Geralt nodded. “You have no idea.” He looked at the ceiling for a moment to allow his tired brain to gather some thoughts. Here is one question for you, he thought. “Would you mind if I spend the night upstairs with you? Otherwise, I don’t think sleep will be happening for me.”

Kit shrugged. “This is your house after all. But I might be snoring, too. Or maybe I don’t, I don’t actually know.”

“You didn’t snore last night,” he remarked with a smile that she did not see.

“Well, I didn’t sleep very much last night,” she said yawning, her eyelids drooping. Her face remained neutral but Geralt picked up on her slightly elevated heart rate.

“Why not? Did the thunder keep you up?”

“No, I like the sound of rain and thunder.”

“Then what was it? Did I snore?”

“No, you didn’t.” He heard hesitation in her voice.

“Was it the place? The bed?” he inquired.

“No.”

“So it was me after all?” He felt a little guilty but curious at the same time.

“Never mind, it’s not important.”

“It is to me. If you feel uncomfortable, I won’t bother you.”

“Geralt, don’t be silly. I have never felt safer and better taken care of than whenever I’m with you.” There was that beautiful blush again. Geralt felt something in his stomach flutter at this unexpected confession. This might have been the nicest thing anybody had ever said to him and he had no doubt that it was sincere. But whether the interest behind it was of the nature that he desired, he still did not know.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ll turn into the Grinch, if I don’t get enough sleep,” she added. Geralt did not know what a Grinch was but he had a rough idea what she meant.

“You’ll be as insufferable as when you’re hungry?” he guessed, remembering an excursion they had made, when all will to live seemed to have left her once she got hungry and there was no food to be had immediately.

Kit just nodded. “It seems you are finally starting to understand me.”

“So how many hours of sleep do you need every day?” he wondered.

“I’d say one or two.” Kit paused at Geralt’s surprised expression. “But ideally I’d have to get another eight at night.”

Geralt shook his head, smiling.

“Well, I’m tired.” She yawned again. “You are welcome to join me in _your_ guestroom.” With that she got up. Geralt did not linger around much longer and followed her. For a moment he stood in the middle of the room indecisively, as he did not know whether to try and find a comfortable position in the armchair or maybe just follow her to the bed.

“Is sleeping while standing a witcher thing or are you eventually coming to bed?” Geralt was relieved that she took the decision from him and cautiously crawled into bed next to her.

Her behavior confused him greatly. After her silence this morning, he had not expected her to be willing to share a bed with him any time soon. But maybe her silence had had other reasons, he thought, something that he was not aware of at all.

“Is this acceptable in your world?” The question had left his mouth before he had been able to stop himself. But then again, he enjoyed coaxing a little more intimate information out of her.

“What do you mean?”

“Sharing a bed with a man who’s not…” Geralt was not sure how to end the sentence. He had been curious ever since the last night when she had not even mentioned the fact that they had to share the bed in the palace. Sorceresses and other exceptions aside, this type of behavior was rather unusual among women.

Kit turned around towards him, eyes closed, hands folded under her cheek.

“My country isn’t very religious, if that’s what you mean. A person’s value isn’t depending on what they do, with whom they do it or with how many they’ve done it. In my social environment at least.” She turned on her back and spoke to the ceiling. “Consent is key. The rest is a matter of negotiation.” He noticed how, despite her unconcerned tone, her heart beat a little faster than it usually did. “But if it helps you sleep better you can have a priest come by tomorrow. Either to exorcise me or to have us married – it you’re that worried over your virginity.” Geralt saw her smile at her own joke despite the darkness.

“I’ll take the risk,” he decided with a chuckle. “But you’re alright?”

She hummed. “Only if you finally let me sleep.”

“You are a strange woman,” he mumbled.

“I’ll mostly be an angry woman, if I don’t get to sleep now,” she said, while turning her back to him again.

The only reason Geralt knew Kit had slept that night was because this time he woke up long before she did. Her head rested on his shoulder and her left hand lay on his stomach just above the waistband of his briefs. Wherever they touched, Geralt’s skin tingled in the most pleasant ways. He imagined what else would do what if she had placed her hand a little lower.

It had been too long, he thought, if simple touches were enough to drive him crazy. For now, he would have to be content feeling her calm breath on his skin and playing with her silky hair. He relished feeling her weight on him and wished that she had not just nestled up against him in her sleep but that it had been a conscious decision to seek closeness to him.

While Geralt was still marveling at how they always ended up in an embrace after the night, a squeal and a growl sounded from downstairs, telling him that Dandelion had woken up and possibly discovered that his face was not in the best state. He tried to leave the bed without waking Kit and made his way to the stairs.

“How am I supposed to appear at the wedding, looking like this?” When he noticed Geralt on the stairs, he begged: “Do something, Geralt! I need my face!”

“Dandelion, really, that’s on you.” He rolled his eyes.

“What’s going on?” Kit suddenly appeared on the stairs behind Geralt. “Just because beauty sleep isn’t working for you doesn’t mean you get to disturb everybody else around here.” She looked somewhat intimidating despite her eyes being half-closed from the sleep, yet she managed to shoot a deadly glare in Dandelion’s general direction.

The bard was about to answer back when he suddenly realized that the two of them had come out of the same bedroom. “Oh,” was all he said. Then he excitedly exclaimed: “I knew there was a reason for why you rejected me. No woman can withstand my charms, ha ha!”

“It’s gonna be easier for everybody if you just let him believe that,” Geralt whispered to Kit.

“Believe what?” Kit cocked her head and sighted. “Ah, never mind. The things I do for peace and quiet,” she hissed while smiling at Dandelion who seemed to have already forgotten about the previous drama.

“Geralt, really, you should have told me. You finally letting a lady back into your heart and bedchambers, such great news!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. And this was, Geralt reminded himself, why Dandelion despite his sometimes rather annoying nature was his best friend. The fact that he was so obviously and truly happy for his friend was one of his best character traits.

“Okay, I’m not sure what’s going on but I’m going back to bed, I can’t deal with so much energy in the morning,” Kit said and turned on her heels. Geralt looked after her longingly but descended the stairs anyway. Breakfast had already been prepared and he was hungry.

Dandelion joined him and was able to not ask the questions that were burning on his tongue for exactly five minutes.

“Tell me. Where, when, how? I demand to know!”

Geralt pretended not to understand. “How what?” He dreaded trying to explain what was happening as he himself did not quite understand it.

“How did you meet her? It seems she’s not from around here,” Dandelion pondered while gesticulating with his croissant.

“You have no idea.” Geralt rubbed the left side of his face. He had been experiencing a weird tension in his lower jaw ever since he had gotten up.

“Then give me one.”

“It’s strange.”

“Nothing with you is ever not strange.”

Geralt skipped over any explanatory context. The bard had been with him for so long, they had had so many adventures together. He knew very well what was out there.

“Found her in a field. She doesn’t know how she got there and, you are right, she is not from around here. She’s from a completely different world. I suspect that some sort of small-scale conjunction brought her here. But that’s nothing more than a guess. I have no clue, no evidence whatsoever.” Geralt wished that Ciri was here so he could ask her. A lot of the things Kit had told him sounded as unbelievable and made up as the things Ciri had told him in the past.

“So, a conjunction dropped her in a field and then you happened to find her?” Dandelion managed to be unimpressed and skeptical at the same time. They had been dealing with travelers between worlds in the past to an extend that one more was not adding much excitement.

“In the middle of the night.”

“Do you think it’s maybe another bout of destiny?”

“Hope not. I’m sick of destiny.” And I want something real, he thought, nothing that has been decided for me. To hell with fate.

Geralt’s tongue started to feel around in his mouth. His gums felt a little swollen around the gap where there used to be a tooth that he had lost decades ago in a fight when his main concern had still been to protect little Ciri.

“Lucky bastard! You are the only one I can think of who attracts all the interesting women out there.” The bard’s voice had an accusatory, possibly jealous undertone.

“Attractive and complicated, as a rule of thumb,” Geralt said, shrugging his shoulders. “I could do without any drama for once.”

“Let’s just stay the hell away from djinns, then,” replied Dandelion who immediately understood what Geralt was hinting at. When Yennefer and him had, after all those years, finally broken things off for good, Dandelion had been short of throwing a party for he was happy that his friend would not suffer through that relationship anymore – that, in his humble opinion, never was enough to be called a relationship in the first place. But then again, he did not want to complain as a lot of creative energy could be drawn from that unsuitable couple. “How is she, generally speaking? She’s obviously lacking appreciation for good men, that much is certain.”

“You meant to say she has actual taste?” Geralt teased his friend whose pride was still hurt. Before Dandelion could retort, Geralt reassured: “She just doesn’t like strangers. If you got to know her you’d see that she is kind and smart – I don’t think I have ever met anyone like her.” Dandelion stared at the witcher with wide eyes.

“Now I’m worried. What kind of spell did she put on you? I don’t even recognize my friend anymore.”

Geralt shrugged. “No idea. I just know that one touch of her, no matter how small or accidental, is enough to make me forget the world around me. I have rarely felt such a connection to someone I hardly know.”

Dandelion critically raised an eyebrow. “You did make sure that she’s not bewitching you though?” he asked.

“Don’t be silly,” Geralt spat. “There is nothing magical about her. And yes, I did check,” he added with an eye-roll.

The bard relaxed a little. “Then all is well, I presume? You finally found yourself someone?“

“Did you forget about the part where she is from another world? She obviously has no intentions of staying here. And I will not keep her against her will. I’ve made inquiries to some old friends to see if any of them can help out.” He breathed out in frustration. “And I’m not even sure she likes me, to be honest.” He told his friend how he felt that, every time they got a little closer, she seemed to pull away right after, while recounting some of the recent events.

“I don’t know if that is just the way people in her world are, or if it’s me. Maybe she’s only staying with me because she’s got nowhere else to go.” The frustration had been eating away at Geralt and he was glad that he had somebody to talk to about it.

“Don’t be silly, old friend.” The bard smiled knowingly. “You know there are all these women who’d gladly spend their time with you. Why wouldn’t she?”

“You know that most of them only want me for one night and besides that couldn’t care any less about my existence.”

“Back in the day that didn’t bother you,” Dandelion reminded him.

“I’m older now. Old. She is too young for me anyway,” Geralt said, mostly out of obligation. She might have been much younger than him but somehow there was no apparent lack of knowledge or experience. Whenever they talked he always had the impression they were equals. Sometimes she even made him feel like he was inadequate, despite his older age.

Was everybody in her world like that?

“Funny that you should say that. Just a couple of minutes ago I thought you actually looked somewhat younger than in my memories. Fresher, somehow. Have you treated your scars? They seem a little faded.”

“You know me too well to be asking this kind of question,” Geralt hummed.

“Mh, I guess only time will tell. How long has it been anyway?”

“About three weeks.”

“Just three weeks?” Dandelion looked at him in surprise. “Sweet Majoran, give that woman some time to adjust! If she really is from another world then being here must be quite the shock. Even I might not prioritize a romance in such circumstances if it were me who happened to stumble into another world.” Geralt admitted to himself that Dandelion’s general loudness often made him forget that his friend could be compassionate and empathetic if he wanted to.

“It’s hard. Her presence drives me crazy.”

“There are soft solutions for hard things,” Dandelion suggested. “Or have you lost your taste for the working girls?”

Geralt grunted. He had indeed long ago lost the taste for them and he severely doubted they could give him what he needed.

“Anyway, the wedding is tomorrow. The two of you should come so I can… evaluate the situation.”

“What’s the point? I already told you she won’t be staying. If all else fails, I have to wait perhaps a year or so for Ciri to visit the next time but eventually she’ll return home.” Geralt already dreaded that day.

“The point is to have fun and live a little. And you don’t know if Ciri can actually bring her back. She told us about the countless worlds she has visited. How is she supposed to find that particular one? To my knowledge she still doesn’t have proper command over her powers. And anyway, nothing that ever came through a conjunction went back home.” When he saw the tortured expression on Geralt’s face, he added: “Make the best out of what you are given. There is always time to grieve later on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forced closeness - another romance trope checked off.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to point out all the horrible, overused tropes that I worked into this story. I haven't read any witcher fanfiction prior to finishing this story, so I don't really know just how Mary Sue this one is. I have trouble finding other ffs with this sort of world travel/time travel stuff to compare (I assume there are tons of them but I'm just too stupid to find them).


End file.
